


Synthesis

by marleymars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Injury, Fallout, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Oral Sex, Post-Apocalyptic, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 03:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12832131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marleymars/pseuds/marleymars
Summary: Life in the Wasteland is harsh for anyone, and Ignis knows this. He’s been facing the world alone for so long that he’s convinced himself he’s better off that way. Everything is as it should be; he doesn’t need company or comfort. When his solitary existence is disrupted by a mysterious young man, Ignis soon comes to realize how very wrong he was.





	Synthesis

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, it's finally time, and ofc I'm panicking because ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ panic is sometimes my default emotion lol. Hopefully I did all the things right and you all enjoy my story. 
> 
> I gotta give a shout out to all my fabulous homies who helped me with this story, my cheerleader [Edrela](https://edrela.tumblr.com/), my editor [Jumpsoap](jumpsoap.tumblr.com), my artist [Kingcael](http://kingcael.tumblr.com/) and [Besin](https://promnised-land.tumblr.com/) for putting together this Big Bang!

 

**Chapter One**

Ignis lived on the outskirts of a small settlement just north of a ruined city. The city had once been called Boston, not that many of its current denizens knew that, or could be bothered to know. Ignis couldn’t blame them for their ignorance. For many, survival was a more prominent concern than history lessons. Education was a privilege, one that went hand in hand with the sort of safe living conditions that most people these days couldn’t afford.

On a small plot of land, unoccupied save for a single building, he lived alone, telling anyone who asked that he preferred it that way. The nearby town was close enough for easy access to supplies, yet far enough that nobody troubled him unless they had desperate need of a doctor.

Nearly three years gone he had left behind the land of his birth, sailing across uncertain seas to try and find the “Commonwealth,” a place that the odd seafaring trader spoke of. Truthfully, he felt no better off here than he had back across the irradiated ocean. Wherever he went he was respected for his skills and he could always fend for himself, but the wasteland was the wasteland no matter what side of the sea you were on.

The place he now called home was an Old World building. Brick and mortar, sturdy, not terribly spacious, but it had aged well. At some point in the distant past it had been used for storage. Then it became a spot for temporary squatting, until Ignis had stumbled upon it and cleared out the refuse. A short distance away from this building were the collapsed ruins of a larger structure—a house. Pre-war houses always felt uncomfortably oversized to Ignis. Too much space, too many hiding places. The only thing the broken house was good for now was providing Ignis with dry firewood.

The building he now called home had two rooms. He slept in the smaller room, on the cleanest mattress he'd been able to find. The front room was sparsely furnished with a table, two chairs, a small iron stove, and his bookshelf. A terminal sat in the corner, but he'd never been able to get it to work. He knew he ought to sell it for scrap, but never got around to doing so.

Outside, he kept a modest garden. He grew what food he could, and the nearby settlers often paid him in supplies for treating their wounds and illnesses. When the need arose, he would hunt. Rarely did he go hungry, which was more than plenty of other people could say.

Living as he did, on his own, was largely considered dangerous, and he knew this. Many who attempted to lead a solitary existence disappeared without a trace, or were found dead. Ignis had tried living in Diamond City for a time, but he'd hated the noise. And the smell. And the mayor. So he'd packed up and left, wandering until he'd found this place and decided it was as good as any other.

In short, Ignis existed. He moved through his days like one moved through water, drifting loosely with the currents, time blending until one day was indistinguishable from the next. Patients came and went, sometimes staying with him for days on a cot he would set up in the front room for them. Some of them died, and the families would weep as he held their hands—if the deceased had any family. Death always bothered him, more than he thought it should for somebody in his profession, and in this world. He’d seen his fair share of dying, but it always stuck with him for days or weeks afterward. He would recall the faces of the dead as he lay down to sleep at night, or when he was absorbed in the steady rhythm of working with his hands, allowing his mind to wander to darker things. He would wonder what he might have done if he were a doctor in the Old World, with proper, sterilized instruments and decent supplies, real medicine that was made in a laboratory and crisp, white bandages that he didn’t need to boil and reuse.

All of the death on his hands, it almost made him wish he had never become a doctor, but he didn’t know what else he might have been. Maybe it would have been something much worse. Having been raised by his uncle, who was also a doctor, he hadn’t consciously made the decision. It was something he’d been raised into, the only thing he knew how to do, the only skill he could wield with enough efficiency to keep himself alive and useful.

If his uncle hadn’t chosen to take him, to raise the orphan son of his dear sister, Ignis couldn’t say what might have happened. He would never know what else his life might have been. Not unless he chose to change himself, and he didn’t see a point in that. Nothing ever really changed in the Wasteland.

Until one day it did.

◊◊◊

Ignis woke, eyes opening just as the sun began to shine through the lone window in his small bedroom. He always rose with the sun, like clockwork as they used to say. He didn’t own a clock himself. When he was a boy his uncle had had one, and everything they did was ruled by that clock. Sometimes Ignis still found himself looking for it, trying to check the hour, only to remember the device was long gone, left behind thousands of miles away.

He went through the motions; rising and stretching, washing in the basin of water he kept in the kitchen, dressing himself, then retrieving the dented kettle he used to heat water for tea. There was a water pump behind his home that had been there long before he ever arrived. It had taken hours of pumping to clear out all the muck and rust when he’d first arrived, but now the water ran clear.

Before he stepped outside, he picked up the rifle leaning by the door—it was purely habit, but a habit that kept him alive. He’d gone outside to find mongrel dogs or feral ghouls prowling too close on more than one occasion, and he wasn’t about to let himself be ripped apart. It was the principle of the thing, mostly; he wasn’t willing to subject himself to an undignified death if he could help it.

Regardless of his preparedness, when he rounded the corner of his house and saw a figure kneeling in his garden, he was taken by surprise. The figure was hunched over, making messy eating noises and so preoccupied with his meal that he didn’t seem aware of his surroundings. For a fraction of a second Ignis thought _ghoul,_ but no—a mop of grimy yellow hair topped the bent head, filthy but not patchy or falling out. The thief was wearing dirty clothing as well, fabric that seemed to hang loose off of his body, as though it had belonged to someone larger. _Just a regular human thief, then. Terrific._

When the barrel of Ignis’ rifle pressed against the back of that shock of blond hair, the thief started, then went stock still. “Turn around, slowly,” Ignis said, injecting a dose of command into his voice. The slightest tremor in his voice, any sign of weakness or fear, would give an edge to the adversary. Maintaining the upper hand was crucial.

“Please,” said the thief in the voice of a young man. It was the barest creak of a whisper, brimming with fright. Ignis needn’t have been so forceful, perhaps—unless this was only an act.

“Turn. Around,” Ignis repeated. With a whimper, his uninvited guest obeyed, holding his hands up as he turned slowly on his knees. The remains of the melon he’d been eating dropped from his soiled grasp, and then he was facing Ignis, or facing _toward_ him. The young man kept his head bent, limp hair obscuring his features. The pitiful creature was trembling so hard Ignis was surprised he didn’t shake himself to pieces.

“Please,” he rasped again. “Don’t hurt me. I-I was just so hun- _hungry,_ I’m so-sorry, I—” and then he burst into tears. His sobbing was so forceful that it wracked his entire bony frame, and he curled in on himself as he pleaded and apologized over and over.

Ignis kept the rifle leveled at the young man’s blond head for all of three seconds, until he saw the tears dripping tracks through the dirt on the stranger’s face. A raider wouldn’t have cried like that, he thought. Nor would somebody truly dangerous, somebody hardened by life in the Wasteland. This was just a desperate, starving young man who clearly needed help. At least, Ignis hoped that was the case. He hesitated, wavering, wanting to trust his instincts but wary of letting his guard down around a stranger. Then, with a sigh, he relented. His conscience had won out in the end—he just prayed he wasn't about to get a knife in the gut for his troubles.

Lowering the rifle—with all due caution—he moved to kneel before the sobbing boy. It was hard to guess his age when he was weeping into his hands and wearing clothing that was clearly too big for him and probably stolen, too. He jerked violently when he felt Ignis’ hand on his shoulder, scrambling backward with a wild look of terror on his face. The first thing Ignis noticed during that flurry of motion were the oddest blue-violet eyes, beautiful and vibrant with tears.

_Beautiful? Honestly. Get a hold of yourself._ Pushing that thought aside, he held out a placating hand, palm down, and set his rifle aside.

“My apologies,” he said, keeping his voice gentle, the same tone he used on frightened patients, “I’m not going to hurt you. You just surprised me. I thought you might be a raider.”

“You—” the young man paused, licked his dry, chapped lips, and tried again, “You’re not— not mad?”

“No,” was the reply. Wary, yes, worried he was letting his guard down too easily, but not mad. “My name is Ignis. Can you tell me yours?”

The young man swallowed hard, his throat bobbing noticeably. His eyes darted, searching Ignis’ steady gaze for signs of trickery, and it took him several more hard swallows to work up to a reply.

“My-my name is Prompto,” he said, so softly Ignis could barely hear him, though they were only a few feet apart. Something about the way he spoke his name sounded uncertain, like he was sounding it out for the first time.

“Prompto,” Ignis repeated. It wasn't a common name, but then neither was Ignis. He let his eyes roam over the quivering figure, trying to decide what to do. This was not a common occurrence for him, entertaining regular visitors—or thieves. But he felt compelled to do _something_. The boy was clearly hungry, very obviously terrified, and probably alone. And Ignis was apparently easily taken in by big, blue eyes.

“Why don’t you stay for breakfast?” The question earned him an incredulous look, but there was less mistrust in Prompto’s eyes. Apprehension, yes, but when Ignis held his hand out again, the young man took it—haltingly, still shaking—and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

Breakfast was usually a simple affair for Ignis. He wished sometimes for better supplies, largely spices and other ingredients that no longer existed or were not available. One of his books was an Old World cookbook, and he sometimes looked through the recipes with a sense of awe and not a little envy. He rarely had anyone to cook for aside from patients, but he'd always secretly enjoyed feeding people. A part of him lamented in moments such as these that he couldn't make something more elaborate and palatable than grilled vegetables and the last of the eggs he'd purchased on his most recent trip to town.

None of that seemed to matter to Prompto. Ignis had never seen anyone eat so ravenously, and he had treated malnutrition before. He didn’t give Prompto too much food, knowing that if the young man was truly starving then it would make him ill to overfill his stomach. His guest seemed not to notice, and he thanked Ignis profusely for the food. Ignis was half-worried that Prompto would choke as he gobbled down his portion, even as he continued to speak. Nobody had ever taught him table manners, it seemed. It was amusing, in a way, if unpleasant to watch.

Regardless, Ignis did watch Prompto—carefully—as they ate. He almost felt guilty for his caution, but it was better this than being taken by surprise. Prompto, it seemed, was in tacit agreement with that line of thought; every small movement Ignis made, those curious eyes tracked intently. At least they were both equally wary, then.

When at last they were both finished eating, he reached for Prompto’s empty plate and the poor boy flinched. Ignis had the good sense not to say anything about it, of course. _Not entirely mistrustful, but skittish and reactionary. Starving and filthy and wearing stolen clothing. Didn’t try to fight back at all when he was afraid I might kill him. Odd, but perhaps he was afraid of greater retribution if he attempted to defend himself?_

With the dishes cleaned, Ignis filled up the basin with clean water and handed Prompto a small, paper-wrapped bundle. “That's soap. Get yourself cleaned up, and make sure to be thorough. I’ll set some clothing out for you, and get those washed,” he instructed, leaving no room for argument, indicating the dirty shirt and ragged jeans Prompto wore. Then he slipped into the back, picked out some clean clothes for Prompto to change into, and returned to find the young man still dressed and staring meekly at the floor.

“Can you…? Don’t look,” he whispered, pleading again.

“You don’t need to be shy. I’m a doctor,” Ignis said, though he set the clothing down and moved toward the door. When he looked back, he saw Prompto regarding him with true fear, eyes wide and round. Ignis could even see the pulse jumping in his throat.

“You’re…you’re a doctor?” he repeated, tremors running through his voice. Clearly, that was not a good thing in Prompto’s mind.

“Yes,” Ignis said carefully, eyes narrowed. “I serve the nearby town. Why? Does my being a doctor frighten you?” he asked a tad clinically, knowing the answer.

“N-no,” Prompto lied, eyes darting around the room as if looking for a way to escape. There was none, not that didn’t involve getting past Ignis. Prompto seemed to register that fact fairly quickly and began to shrink in on himself, trying to look smaller or hide in plain sight.

Ignis knew there was only one way to confront such fear, and that was with respectful calm.

“Prompto, I said I wouldn’t harm you, and I won’t. If you are not comfortable here then you are welcome to leave, but please at least get yourself cleaned up first. I’ll remain outside until you are done.” Without another word, Ignis turned and went back outside, taking his rifle with him. He doubted at this point that Prompto would try anything, but better safe than sorry.

To pass the time, Ignis weeded and watered his garden. He threw the scraps of melon Prompto had left behind into the compost heap, then picked a few ripe fruits from his mutfruit tree. While he waited, he leaned against the low fence surrounding his home while he ate one of the fruits, rifle never too far out of reach. By the time he was finished and tossing the core onto the compost, Prompto was stepping outside looking much better than he had when Ignis had first laid eyes on him. His skin was scrubbed pink, exposing smatterings of freckles that had been hidden under the layer of grime, and his hair was a brighter yellow than it had initially appeared.

_Too skinny, though,_ Ignis thought. _Obviously malnourished, hair and skin look healthy enough, and his eyes are clear._ Whoever Prompto was, wherever he had come from, he had been well cared for until recently. The clothing Ignis had given him was still too large on Prompto’s smaller, underfed frame. But at least he was clean and fed, and unless he consented to an examination, Ignis could only presume he was in relatively good health.

“Feeling better?” Ignis asked, trying to sound friendly. He was skilled in soothing and giving orders whenever either were required of him, but it had been a long time since he’d been social with anyone who wasn’t a patient.

All he received in answer was a nod. _Fear of doctors. Not uncommon, but his reaction seemed excessive._ After their initial “introduction,” Prompto had been more or less unafraid of Ignis. Cautious, perhaps, but in a healthy, normal fashion. Ignis had threatened him with a rifle, but it had all been a misunderstanding, and Prompto had recovered quickly from the unpleasant first impression. And then he’d found out Ignis was a doctor, and fear had wrapped itself around him like a second skin. _No, it’s more than just fear. This is goes deeper than that._

“There’s a settlement a mile up the road,” Ignis said, keeping his tone even, gentle. “Would you like for me to escort you there?”

Prompto seemed to struggle with the question—his emotions played out on his face like the pages of a book flipping in a strong breeze in brief, readable flashes. Finally, he settled on a look of resignation, or something like it. “I don’t have any money,” he mumbled, shoulders sagging. Not a shocking revelation, really.

Ignis was careful to move slowly toward him, not wanting Prompto to spook and run, or feel threatened. Prompto hadn’t moved away from the door to Ignis’ house, and he watched Ignis approach with skittering eyes, body tensing like a hare preparing to bolt.

“You are welcome to stay here,” Ignis said when he was within five feet of the young man. “I won’t ask why you are afraid of me, but you may tell me if you ever wish to do so, without fear of judgement.”

“Why,” Prompto began tremulously, eyes darting like he was trying to watch every part of Ignis’ body at once, pausing to lick his lips before starting again, “Why are you helping me?”

“Because I’m a doctor. I help people.” _Whether I want to or not._ Ignis wasn’t keen on having permanent company, but he couldn’t very well throw this vulnerable boy to the wolves, so to speak. Raiders or super mutants or something else unpleasant would surely pick him off sooner or later. And though Ignis was loathe to admit it to himself, Prompto was not unattractive. Those eyes alone would make him a target for slavers, and the thought did not sit well.

For a minute Prompto only stared at Ignis, uncertainty coloring his features. “I’m sorry,” he blurted abruptly, and Ignis frowned.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Ignis said, imagining that Prompto was thinking of the melon he’d stolen.

“No, I mean…I don’t know what I mean,” he said, shoulders sagging. “I’m just…you’re the first person wh-who hasn’t tried to—who’s been nice to me.” Something about the statement seemed off. The first person to be nice to Prompto since when? In his entire life? Not an improbable prospect, but a saddening one. “I’m sorry for being scared of you. I just…” He shifted from foot to foot, hugged himself, and looked like he might start crying again.

“Stop,” Ignis said, firm but kind, “It’s all right. You don’t need to tell me now. We’ve only just met, remember?”

“Right,” Prompto said hoarsely, avoiding Ignis’ gaze. He looked exhausted, suddenly. Ignis still couldn’t gauge how old he was, and the dark circles under his eyes didn’t help. _Could be a teenager, or early twenties. I’ll ask him later._

“Why don’t you go inside and lie down? You look as if you haven’t slept in a week,” Ignis said, careful not to touch Prompto as he gestured toward the house.

“I… okay,” Prompto said. Before he turned away, Ignis held out one of the mutfruits he’d picked. Prompto stared at the offering for a moment, before gingerly plucking it from Ignis’ hand. “Thank you,” he said, and Ignis knew the gratitude was for more than the fruit.

 

**Chapter Two**

For the first few days Prompto was quiet, presenting with an odd combination of listlessness and curiosity. He spent his time alternately sifting through Ignis’ small collection of books or sitting about looking morose. The one consistency was that he always showed a healthy appetite no matter his mood, though he didn't talk as much as he had during that first meal.

Ignis, much to his chagrin, felt his guard slipping day by day. Normally, he didn't even relax fully around patients unless they were literally on their deathbed. There had been, on more than one occasion, someone who'd played sick only to turn around and rob him. Prompto, however, didn’t appear to possess the wiles of a thief, and artifice seemed beyond him. He was too expressive, too…“innocent” felt like too insulting a term. Inexperienced, perhaps?

People weren't usually violent toward doctors, knowing it was stupid to kill someone who could potentially save their life one day. But there were no qualms involving theft. Doctors kept stocks of chems and stimpacks, rad-away and other medical supplies. Not to mention caps. An intrepid thief could make off with all of Ignis’ medicine and sell it to chem-heads for a small fortune. Ignis could always rebuild, but that took time.

There were also stories Ignis had heard of doctors being taken prisoner or enslaved, forced to work for raiders or other unsavory folk. He knew he would very much like to avoid such a fate if at all possible.

If Prompto was bait for slavers or a raider gang, though, Ignis would eat his entire collection of books. There was occasionally something furtive about the way he watched Ignis, but the looks never made him feel threatened. Whenever Ignis caught him staring, Prompto would quickly look away, shoulders hunched, head bowed. Was the strange young man just suspicious of him, or was it something else?

The boy had no interest in caps, Ignis found when he left a few placed about the front room of his home. Prompto slept on the cot in the corner near the stove—alone in that room at night he would have plenty of opportunity to slip a stray cap into his pockets in the hopes that Ignis wouldn’t notice. But the caps remained untouched for days, staying where Ignis had left them as if Prompto couldn’t care less for monetary gain. Prompto had seemed desperate, but he obviously wasn’t desperate enough to steal now that he had a source of food.

None of Ignis’ medicinal supplies went missing, either. He made no secret of where he kept them stored, on the shelves in the back room. There weren’t exactly many hiding places in his small home, after all. The bulk of his funds were hidden behind a loose brick in the wall, but that was the extent of it.

No, Prompto was no master criminal. He wasn’t even an average one. What he was, was a lost, possibly traumatized boy with nowhere to go. Ignis was beginning to feel like he had made the right choice, though trust still didn’t come easily to him.

Despite what his eyes told him he was silently hounded by instinct, and Ignis had learned long ago to trust his instincts. Something about Prompto didn’t add up, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Three days alone with his new houseguest and Ignis still couldn’t figure it out regardless of his surreptitious observations.

“You’re very quiet,” Ignis stated on the fourth night as they ate a meal of stewed radstag with tatos and carrots. Prompto wasn’t quite shoveling the food down his throat anymore, though he still devoured the meal with a look of bliss on his face.

When Ignis spoke, he froze, a somewhat warped spoon halfway from the bowl to his mouth. With a noticeable bob of his throat, he set the spoon back down in the chipped ceramic bowl, still gripping the metal handle like a lifeline.

“I guess...I don’t have a lot to talk about,” he replied, eyes fluttering between Ignis’ face and the tabletop.

“No?” Ignis said, trying to sound nonchalant. _Or as though I’m not prying._ Which he wasn’t. He was only attempting to allow Prompto the chance to get comfortable around him. Ignis hadn’t just been watching the poor boy for signs of criminality for the past few days, after all.

Keeping an eye on Prompto had largely revealed a young man who often withdrew into his own mind. He reminded Ignis at times of a sulking teenager, only...The haunted look that crossed Prompto’s face at times wasn’t what Ignis would call “sulky.” His expressions were strained, worried, lost, as if he couldn’t decide which emotion to work on and let them all roil inside of him at once.

Raiders usually settled for anger, focusing on that and letting it fester and pull at them until there was nothing but rage and greed and cruelty in their hearts. They didn’t usually have the patience for elaborate set-ups, and as the days had passed, Ignis could feel the suspicions harbored in the back of his mind morphing into curiosity.

Prompto said nothing further, and they finished the meal in silence.

When Ignis rose to clear the table, Prompto shot to his feet as well. For a moment, Ignis thought that his guest was about to bolt out the door and disappear into the night. He had begun letting Prompto have the seat closest to the exit so that he wouldn’t feel as though he were trapped in a room with Ignis, so it wouldn’t have been a shock if he had made a run for it.

Instead, with a bit of a stutter, Prompto said, “I-I can hel-help with…” His jaw worked as though words had failed him, and he gestured frantically at the empty bowl he’d been eating from, and then at the sink.

Ah. The dishes. “If you like,” Ignis said mildly. Was this some sort of peace offering? A gesture of good faith? Prompto hunched beside him, timid as a mouse, and scrubbed dishes with a soapy rag and a jittery hand. Frankly, Ignis was amazed that they managed to make it through the ordeal without breaking any of his bowls, though the dishes he dried weren’t what he would call sparkling clean. Not a terrible effort, however, for someone who had obviously never cleaned a dish in his life.

For some reason, the thought sat in Ignis’ mind for the rest of the night, a nagging whisper urging him to examine the observation more closely.

_Never washed a dish. His hands_...Ignis thought. He sat at the table after dinner, writing in a crudely made notebook he had bought from a trader. There was just enough light left in the day to get a little more work done on a personal project of his. What he was really doing was copying, making notes from an old, water-stained medical text. That book hadn’t even been considered worth selling. He’d had to rescue it while making rounds in town a month before from an illiterate patient who had been planning on using it as kindling. True, the pages were stuck together and moldering, but he could read most of the information as he scratched away in his notebook. Information was worth preserving, even if the book itself was ruined.

_Hands_. He paused, the ancient pencil he was using poised above a pulpy sheet of rough paper. Slowly, he set the utensil down, and flexed his hand as if working out a muscle cramp. The pads of his fingers and palms were rough with use, callused, though unlike many in the wasteland he did his best to keep his hands and fingernails clean. His skin was sun-darkened from working outside, and he likely looked older than he was from years of surviving in an inhospitable world. With a frown, he ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the familiar unevenness of a crooked canine on the bottom row.

Prompto was nearby, just barely an outline in Ignis’ peripheral vision, sitting on the cot in the corner. Ignis shifted carefully so as not to draw attention to himself, and studied the boy more closely out of the corner of his eye.

A book was propped open on the cot, and Prompto sat hunched over it, fingers tracing faded pictures of the Old World. With only a few feet between them, Ignis could easily see the soft palms of Prompto’s hand, unmarked by hardship. The nails were jagged, but only because Prompto chewed them when he thought Ignis wasn’t looking.

_What else?_ Everything about Prompto seemed so...fresh. Unmarred. Healthy. He was thin, yes, but a few days of feeding had already made an improvement. A lifetime of malnutrition wouldn’t be fixed by a meal or two, not so quickly or effectively. And his skin was so pale, reddened from sun exposure in the places that his borrowed clothing didn’t cover, but underneath it was a soft white with pink undertones and swathes of freckles. His eyes were so vivid, the whites showing no signs of yellowing or red, no signs of illness, his hair thick and full and the color of the sun.

It was his teeth that were the surest giveaway, though a giveaway of _what,_ Ignis wasn’t certain yet. He had a few ideas, and none that he liked to entertain the thought of. But those teeth—they were perfect. How had he not made the connection before? True, he’d only gotten glimpses of them, but the stark white should have been indicative enough.

Nobody had such straight, white teeth anymore. Ignis had seen pictures in books of people with great big grins full of teeth that weren’t rotten or crooked or missing, but he’d never seen any like that in real life.

_Perfect. Everything about him is…_

“Ignis?”

He blinked, and realized Prompto was no longer engrossed in his book, but rather staring at Ignis...Who had been staring at Prompto in turn, all pretense gone out the front door as he scrutinized the poor boy with a scowl on his face. Prompto had curled in on himself, hunched over even further, timidity returned to him in full force.

“Apologies,” Ignis said. “I was lost in thought.” He stood, and set the medical text and his notebook on the shelf in the corner. Night was falling fast now, and he realized he had quite a lot to mull over. “I believe I’m going to retire for the evening. You should get some sleep as well.”

The general air of sleeplessness that lingered about the boy was one of the only signs he showed of poor health. His eyelids were ringed with pink, though that might have just been pigmentation. Dark bags stood out starkly under his eyes, though, like bruises on his pale skin. Those were most certainly not natural.

“Oh, okay,” Prompto said in reply. “I—uh. Goodnight.” He blurted the words—it seemed to be his primary manner of speech. Ignis wondered at the way he tensed after speaking, but then it was just another odd facet of behavior to ponder.

“Goodnight, Prompto,” Ignis said in kind, keeping his tone gentle as he gave his guest a parting nod.

In the back room, it was already rather dark. Ignis could have turned on the lantern hanging on the wall, he could have kept working. Instead, he lay down on his mattress and thought of the odd young man sleeping on his spare cot.

◊◊◊

“Bloody, useless rubbish,” Ignis muttered to himself. The generator was dead, again, and this time the reason wasn’t so obvious as a loose belt on the rotors. He’d removed a panel from the side, and the bundles of wires and mechanical nonsense were as befuddling as they were greasy—his hands were coated with the stuff, black and gritty. _I’ll never be clean again._

This was why Ignis preferred to use candles or lanterns for light. There was no maintenance required, and candles were inexpensive. He could even make them himself if he were so inclined and had an afternoon free. If it weren’t for the need of a turret, he wouldn’t bother with having a generator at all.

Ignis only enabled the turret when there was trouble that he knew he couldn’t handle with his rifle alone. Leaving either of the machines on full time was out of the question. The blasted devices were loud, for one. The turret sat on the roof of his home, and when it was turned on it chugged and spewed smoke, and the generator was just as disruptive. Aside from that, he couldn’t leave a turret running all day lest it shoot an innocent patient come to call on his services. _If that terminal worked I could program the turret, but I doubt I’ll ever bother to get it fixed._

It paid to keep up on maintenance, though, which was why he was kneeling in the dirt beside the shoddy generator shed he’d built against the side of his home. Ignis had studied repair manuals for these blasted machines, but the problem was that they were all different these days, each one cobbled together out of available parts. They were taken apart and put back together over and over, stripped down, sold off, and reassembled somewhere else with the parts from a different device altogether.

That was just another side-effect of the Great War, Ignis supposed—there were no factories anymore, no assembly lines. He was fairly certain that he was looking at a tube that was affixed to some metal flange with a bit of rancid chewing tobacco. At least, he hoped it was chewing tobacco and not something even more disgusting.

With only a small torch and a limited selection of tools, he couldn’t determine where the trouble originated. The machine wouldn’t start, and he’d followed the wires through the twisting tubing without being able to locate any loose connections. Why couldn’t machines just be simple? Ignis could intuit issues within the human body, but all these metal bits confounded him.

“Ah!” he hissed, yanking his hand back as something sharp caught along the ball of his thumb. He’d been feeling along inside a small side panel, thinking he was being suitably careful, but apparently he’d been wrong. “Oh, wonderful,” he muttered as he watched blood well up from the deep slice. Pain tingled along his nerves, and he had to resist the urge to put the throbbing digit in his mouth. Goodness only knew what kind of filth was in the black grease coating his hands.

A spare rag lay on the ground beside him, this one relatively clean. He pressed it against the wound and got to his feet, leaving the mess he’d made around the generator to clean up later. There was nothing else for it but to pay the one scrupulous repairman he knew the next time he went to town to come fix the generator. He’d have to hope that no raiders—or super mutants, or feral ghouls, or deathclaws—attacked until then.

Ignis rinsed the wound first at the water pump, scrubbing as much dirt and grease from his hands as possible with the help of the rag. Fresh blood immediately rose along the cut, but it didn’t look as deep as he’d originally thought. A clean bandage and careful tending over the next few days should keep infection at bay, he decided.

Prompto was alarmed when he saw Ignis walk in the door holding a bloody rag in his fist. “Are you okay?” he asked, jumping to his feet, abandoning the book he’d been reading on the table. It was the most direct string of words he’d said to Ignis of his own volition in days.

“Just nicked myself trying to fix the generator,” Ignis assured him, injecting calm into his voice.

Prompto studied him for a moment, eyes roving carefully in a way that made Ignis want to glance away. “Can I—do you need help?” he offered, almost in a whisper, hands wringing slowly. He was such an anxious little thing. The top of his head barely reached past Ignis’ shoulder, and he was always shifting, always tense, almost like a mouse. _Or a dog that’s been kicked one too many times, but still wants to trust._

“If you would fill the kettle and set it to boil, I would greatly appreciate it,” Ignis said. Hot water and a bit of alcohol should be sufficient to properly clean the wound. Prompto moved to do as Ignis had asked, leaving Ignis to the task of setting out the necessary medical supplies. A bottle of vodka that was a quarter of the way full, a roll of clean bandages, and a tiny jar of ointment that Ignis had made himself were the best he had on hand. The ointment would dull the pain and help stop the bleeding, and everything else was self-explanatory.

For the the first time since they’d met, Prompto moved with deliberate purpose. There was nothing furtive or hesitant in his motions as he prepared the kettle. Was it that he’d been given a direct task to complete with no interference or assistance needed? No, Ignis rather thought that it had something to do with him being injured. _You’re guessing._

“Here,” Prompto said, and Ignis looked up as the young man set a bowl on the table. A moment later he was filling it with hot water from the kettle. “It’s hot enough, right? I let it boil.”

“It should do just fine,” Ignis told him, “Thank you, Prompto.” A dusting of red spread across Prompto’s freckled cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and the smallest smile turned up the corners of his mouth. Ignis had to look away—it was the first time he’d seen Prompto smile and the thrill that went through him at the sight was… unseemly.

Prompto lingered, watching as Ignis dipped a clean cloth into the water and used it to wash around the wound. Ignis gauged his reactions from the corner of his eye, noting the anxious set to Prompto’s jaw, and the keen way his eyes followed every movement—except for the moment when Ignis poured alcohol over the cut. Prompto squeezed his eyes shut at that and turned his head away for good measure. The sting wasn’t so terrible, but Ignis appreciated the sympathy.

Prompto looked like he wanted to say something throughout the procedure. He regarded Ignis’ medical supplies with something akin to dismay, and helped Ignis clean up afterward without needing to be asked.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be alright?” Prompto asked Ignis as he ensured the bandage was securely wrapped around his thumb.

“I’m certain,” Ignis assured him. “I’ve had worse, believe me.” This sudden concern was unexpected, and Ignis wasn’t certain what to make of it. He wasn’t used to being fussed over, and while Prompto wasn’t quite hovering, it was more interaction than they’d both willingly engaged in before together.

“I won’t be able to get my hands dirty for a day or two,” Ignis said when Prompto only continued to sit across from him at the table, nervously biting his lip. “It would be greatly helpful if you would check the garden for weeds.”

“Oh! Okay,” Prompto said. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair before scrambling out the door. Ignis hadn’t meant to sound dismissive, but his tone might have been a touch brusque. Prompto would likely avoid him for the rest of the day in either case, as he had done every day before.

Lacking anything better to do, Ignis settled in his chair with a few pieces of clothing that were in need of stitching. It was a chore he’d been avoiding in favor of more pressing matters—like fixing the bloody generator—but he quickly fell into a rhythm. Sewing was admittedly tedious; it was something Ignis had done often enough, however, that he could let his mind wander while his hands did all the work.

There were other things that needed doing, more important things, like brewing up more medicines, rad-away and stimpacks and the like, or building that coop he’d been thinking of. A merchant in town sold chickens—sad, featherless things, but they laid eggs. He needed to make new snares to catch the mole rats that tried to eat his garden, finish the netting he’d been making to catch fish from the nearby river, and speaking of, there was a busted water filter in the shallows that needed repairs. If he had that, it would make purifying his water so much simpler.

While he wasn’t exactly helpless, he couldn’t do any of that with a fresh wound. Not unless he was in the market for a case of sepsis.

Clumsiness could kill a man in the wasteland. One small misstep, like slicing one’s thumb open, could be the end of him. Well, if he weren’t a doctor. _It’s not as though I fell and broke my leg. A day or two of neglecting work isn’t going to kill me._

He was so deeply lost in his thoughts that the sound of the generator roaring to life nearly made him jab the sewing needle through his already injured thumb. “What in the—?” He set his sewing down carefully, and hurried outside. The generator couldn’t have started on it’s own, could it? Perhaps if the wires brushed together somehow, but—

Rounding the corner of the building, he saw Prompto kneeling before the generator, wiping his hands on a dirty scrap of cloth. As Ignis watched, the boy leaned forward, head cocked, listening...to the generator? Scowling, Prompto shook his head and pressed the power switch. Ignis could hear Prompto muttering under his breath, but couldn’t make out the words.

“What are you doing?” he asked. Thankfully, he sounded more baffled than accusatory or irritated. Prompto still jumped like a startled cat, springing up to his feet, eyes wide with guilt.

“Sorry, I—”

“Did you fix it?” Ignis cut him off without meaning to. He was just...surprised didn’t really describe what he was feeling. No. Impressed. He was impressed.

Prompto looked at him, looked at the generator, then looked at him again. “Sort of...It’s...the wires were corroded. I found some—” he paused, swallowed hard—“I found some better wires nearby and replaced them. But it still sounds rough. There’s a loose part, I think, rattling…” He cut himself off, dropped his gaze. “I should have asked first. I’m sorry.”

Ignis stared at him. Then he stared some more. Then he realized that Prompto was on the verge of tears, and he cleared his throat. “Prompto, there’s no need to be sorry. I’ve been trying to fix that infernal machine for months.” Questions ran through Ignis’ mind—where did you learn to do that, what do you mean you found spare wires nearby, there’s nothing out here—but Prompto was watching him with something like cautious disbelief.

“Thank you,” Ignis said, and a hesitant little smile formed on Prompto’s lips for the second time that day.

 

**Chapter Three**

“There’s a bunker,” Prompto told him.

Ignis was immediately intrigued, though he only hummed with interest. Prompto was side-eying him, curious. For the past several days he’d been eagerly assisting Ignis around the farm, pleased to be of use to the man giving him food and shelter. Not that Ignis made any demands of him, but once Prompto realized his skills could be helpful he began offering to make other repairs, practically jumping at the chance. 

His shyness didn’t quite evaporate overnight, but every positive interaction they had was progress, in Ignis’ opinion. Prompto was still leery of being in Ignis’ vicinity when he was performing doctoral duties, such as filling syringes with the healing concoction used in stimpacks. Currently, that was exactly what Ignis was doing, sitting at the table with all of his sterilized equipment while Prompto stood at the counter with some convoluted hunk of machinery in pieces before him.

Today he was fixing the water purifier pump. According to him, it was a “dirty piece of junk,” fixable yes, but the look in his blue eyes seemed to question why anyone would bother. Prompto had only reluctantly accepted Ignis’ explanation that they weren’t likely to find any equipment in pristine condition in the Wasteland.

“A bunker?” Ignis echoed when Prompto didn’t elaborate. He was focused, watching the liquid filling the syringe for air bubbles or detritus—anything that could kill a patient if he injected it into them. When the vial was full, he capped the needle and set it gently aside on a plastic sheet, then glanced at Prompto. The boy was worrying a lip between his teeth, staring pensively into the middle distance, a wrench in his hand hovering above the motor on the counter.

“Prompto,” Ignis called softly. He might as well have shouted. Prompto jumped, fumbled the wrench, and it clattered loudly to the floor. Face red, the boy bent to pick the tool up, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline.

“Sorry,” he whispered, not meeting Ignis’ gaze. He had moments like this, moments where he made some small mistake and immediately shrank into himself. It had happened dozens of times in the short duration that Ignis had known him. Ignis fought the urge to assure Prompto that he wasn’t going to yell (or have any other violent reactions). Words were cheap, as they say.

“No need to apologize,” was all he said before turning back to his own work, “You were saying, about a bunker?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Prompto said, though Ignis doubted he’d forgotten. “It’s not far. I found it a few days before I found you.”

Ignis hummed again to show he was listening, and began crushing some bloodleaf into a pestle. He wondered what the chances were of meeting whoever had made Prompto into such a timid creature and introducing them to the business end of his rifle.

“There wasn’t much inside,” Prompto continued, “I found some pre-war food that wasn’t any good, and a bunch of machinery. When I looked at your generator, I figured I could cannibalize the equipment in the bunker and use the parts for repairs.”

Ignis thought for a moment, and recalled someone, a patient or a trader maybe, telling him about an old bunker nearby. No one had ever been able to get inside. Allegedly, the place was guarded by a prickly robot that had killed more than one foolhardy scavver. There was also supposed to be a heavy blast door locked by a console that had proven thus far to be impossible to hack. If it was the same bunker that Prompto had found, then what did that mean?

The puzzle of his house guest continued to grow more complex.

Ignis found himself asking, “Could you show it to me?”

Prompto had resumed working behind him, disassembling the motor, but the sounds of his movements stilled. The silence was so heavy that Ignis thought his request might be refused, but Prompto must not have been able to think of a reason to say no.

“If you want,” he answered softly. “Yeah. I can show you.”

They didn’t talk more after that. Ignis finished filling his syringes and cleared away the mess, then he sat with his medical journal and read over his notes until it was time for dinner. Prompto had moved his project to the workbench outside, and was only drawn back into the house when the light had begun to fail and the smell of food cooking filled the air.

Ignis was pleased to see that the boy continued to eat without reservation. He was regaining a healthy layer of fat over his hollowed cheeks and stringy muscles, bringing to mind pre-war photos of well-fed people. People who had grown up in a world that hadn’t been ruined by nuclear devastation.

“Tomorrow?” Ignis said, and Prompto looked up from shoveling food in his mouth with a curious look on his face. “You can take me to the bunker tomorrow?” It wasn’t as though either of them had plans once the morning chores were complete, barring any unseen emergencies. Nobody had been dragged to Ignis’ doorstep covered in blood in weeks, but it was nearly time for him to go into town to make rounds, come to think. A mysterious bunker could yield supplies that Prompto might have discounted as unimportant, but which Ignis could trade in at the market. He wanted better supplies, a few chickens for eggs, and perhaps the ability to hire someone competent in carpentry. A separate space to treat patients would be useful, so he didn’t have to care for them in his kitchen.

Prompto nodded, and returned to eating with slightly less gusto, a shadow of guilt falling over his features. Had he lied about the contents of the bunker? Ignis didn’t know why the notion should sting at him the way it did. Surely he wasn’t surprised that this very shy and secretive young man would avoid divulging the truth.

Paranoia began to edge its way back into his thoughts, unbidden. _There’s a trap at the bunker,_ he thought, but the image of Prompto leading him into some kind of ambush no longer fit. If there were raiders lurking nearby then they would have lost patience by now waiting for their trap to be sprung, and Ignis wasn’t so important or intimidating that anyone would go to such lengths to lure him out. Even raiders would simply walk up to his door if they were in dire straights, though they were unlikely to pay him for his services.

Sleep did not come quickly to Ignis that night. There was something he was missing, something he couldn’t see, but the answer teased at the edge of his mind. He was convinced that he needed only to look more closely and all of Prompto’s secrets would become clear to him.

_But it isn’t any of my business,_ he thought, and it was the first time the realization had entered his mind. Everyone was entitled to secrets, he knew that. Perhaps he was just letting paranoia and curiosity lead him into nosiness. Knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to understand the boy better, to know why he was so furtive and meek at times, why his teeth were so perfect.

He was letting his thoughts chase in circles again. Ignis had never met anyone so mysterious, someone who occupied his thoughts so wholly for such extended lengths of time. When he finally began to drift off he found himself holding an image of Prompto in his mind, and instead of wondering what the boy’s story was he instead wondered if his skin was as soft to the touch as it looked.

◊◊◊

It was warm out the next day. Ignis had an old thermometer hanging on the outside of the house that read seventy five degrees fahrenheit and twenty eight degrees celsius. He didn’t know how accurate those readings were—time had rusted the metal casing and the mercury inside might be defective somehow.

Prompto didn’t like the warm weather. Ignis could see that plainly, from the way the boy went pink in the face and was constantly swiping sweat out of his eyes. Temperature was more constant than it had been two-hundred years ago, according Ignis’ own research. It didn’t snow as readily in the winter, though the heat could climb to unbearable levels at the height of summer. Otherwise, this mild warmth was typical, comfortable for most people.

“Wait,” Ignis said, calling a halt to their hike through the woods. Most of the trees around them were dead, leafless. Some spindly saplings were making a valiant attempt to set down roots in the poisoned earth, but their foliage was sickly and greenish brown, too sparse to provide shade. Ignis took a sip from a bottle of purified water, and watched as Prompto did the same. The boy also splashed water into his hand, then onto his face.

“Is it always so hot up—” he froze, shot Ignis a wild glance, then went back to wiping at his face.

What had he been about to say? Ignis could only wonder. Prompto had grumbled about the heat a few times, even when it had been cooler. Mostly he muttered about it under his breath, as if he didn’t mean for anyone else to hear. This had been almost closer to a whine, making him sound not quite as mousy as usual.

“Typical temperature range from the vernal equinox to midsummer is seventy to eighty degrees. Sometimes if we don’t get any rain during the summer months it can reach over one-hundred degrees. In the winter I’ve seen it get to about forty most days. Cooler on the rare occasion that snow falls, but it always melts away within a few hours.”

Ignis had always been prone to encyclopedic recitations of facts or observations, which most people tended to attribute to him being a doctor. He rather thought that he would be this way even if he weren’t one.

Prompto goggled at him at this explanation, though. “That’s too hot,” he finally stated.

“Take it up with the National Weather Service,” Ignis told him, fending off amusement.

Now Prompto narrowed his gaze, looking Ignis up and down as if he were making some assessment. “You’re teasing me?” he asked after a moment, sounding unsure and bewildered.

“Only because I like you,” Ignis replied, feeling his own rush of surprise at the words. What had possessed him to say that?

Prompto only blinked, and uttered a soft, “Oh.” If he wasn’t already flushed red from their hike, Ignis might have thought he were blushing.

Ignis took another, unnecessary, draught of water. “We should carry on,” he said.

“Yes,” Prompto said, relief apparent.

They had been walking only for an hour, Ignis estimated. He rarely ventured so far in this direction, too worried about hungry animals to risk a sojourn into the wilderness. Even with his rifle strapped over his shoulder he was uneasy. He had no other firearms, but he’d gifted Prompto with a sharp hunting knife, which the boy had been reluctant to take. “For self-defense,” Ignis had had to explain. Anything could be lurking out there in the forest, waiting to take them unawares. Worst case scenario might be super mutants, this far north. Most of the nastier creatures tended to live closer to the Glowing Sea, which he knew by word of mouth if not by experience.

“It’s not much further,” Prompto announced. Then, almost in an aside, “I got there a lot faster on my own yesterday.” Ignis had been too lost in thought to even notice Prompto slip away the day before. He’d had time enough to run to the bunker, secure the supplies he needed, then get back and make repairs to the generator without Ignis even realizing he’d gone. He supposed it was a good thing the turret was in working order now, if he was letting his guard down to that degree.

“How do you remember where it is?” Ignis asked.

A shrug. “It...seemed like a safe place,” Prompto answered. “I wanted to remember where it was in case…” He was keeping slightly ahead of Ignis. At the start of their trip he’d been eager to get going, _eager to please,_ Ignis thought. Even as he remained standoffish in many ways, he still appeared to desire approval on some level. Or, at the very least, he desired to be useful.

Ignis wanted to assure him that it wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t know how to address the issue. All he had to go on was supposition.

“An underground bunker sounds a fair bit safer than my own humble abode,” Ignis said, trying to make the words light.

For a few minutes, both of them were silent. All that could be heard was the crunch-snap of leaves and other deadfall beneath their feet. Ignis listened intently for other things; the heavy, rumbling breath of a yao guai, the buzz of carnivorous insects, or the raspy grunting of feral ghouls.

“I like your house,” Prompto said abruptly, not quite blurting the words.

“Truly?” Ignis asked, brows raised, “It’s rather crowded with the two of us.”

“Yes, bu—," Prompto stopped dead in his tracks, body rigid, and tilted his head as if he were listening. Ignis froze as well, ears straining, but he heard nothing.

 

“Prompto?” he whispered.

A hand went up, Prompto signaling for silence. Then, “I thought I heard…,” he shook his head, sighed. “It’s so noisy out here.” The words were spoken under his breath. Ignis had the oddest feeling that Prompto wasn’t just talking about the sounds of the ravaged forest.

Only a few minutes later, they crested a hill and found themselves looking down at a concrete structure that protruded out from the mass of the earth. Prompto began to scramble down without preamble, his feet hitting the concrete overhang. Ignis watched as Prompto sat himself on the structure, and then hopped down to the ground below before following suit.

The structure was an edifice, or the entrance to one; a concrete wall with a concave entryway several feet deep that ended in a sealed blast door. There was no handle, no window, no obvious way inside. A console was embedded in the wall beside the door, though, just as all the rumors had said there would be.

“I thought you said you’d gotten it open,” Ignis heard himself say.

“I did,” Prompto answered, giving him a look that was contrite and confused all at once. “When I came out I resealed the door, though. So nothing else could get in.”

“I see,” Ignis said. And he did see. If Prompto was hoping to use the place as a safe house, he wouldn’t have wanted to leave the door open for any curious creature. “You can open it again, I presume?”

“Yes,” Prompto said, eagerness taking over again. _Excited to show that he can be of use,_ he thought again _._ Ignis sighed, and turned in a circle to take stock of their surroundings—and cried out in shock. Less than five feet away, resting inside of another recess in the concrete wall, was a robot. A massive thing with three legs, a smaller upper body, a pair of arms that bore twin miniguns, and a small head-like construction at the top with a single, glowing-red eye.

Ignis’ rifle was in his hands before he could remember unslinging it from his shoulder, the barrel aimed at the robot, at that burning red eye. What did they call these ones? Sentry bot, he remembered. Sentry, because they guarded.

“Wait!” Prompto cried, and then he was grabbing the rifle, forcing it toward the ground with surprising strength. “Don’t shoot it,” he said, a bit breathlessly, one hand on the rifle, the other gripping Ignis’ arm. “It’s disabled. It won’t attack us. But I think...if you shoot it…”

Prompto was close, so close, practically pressed against his side and staring up at Ignis with pleading eyes. The heat from his hand soaked through the sleeve of Ignis shirt, and Ignis swallowed past a hard lump in his throat, tearing his gaze away from the boy to look at the machine.

Disabled, he’d said. The robot was clearly functional—Ignis could hear it humming, the whirring of servos and motors and whatever else made up its insides. If it hadn’t been disabled they would be dead, because he hadn’t heard it or seen it initially, hidden where it was beneath the overhang, inside of that recess in the wall.

“If I shoot it, it will see me as a threat,” he finished. Some robots were like that, he knew. Those plodding protectrons, for example, wouldn’t usually attack a person unless that person showed themselves to be an obvious threat, making the protectrons easy to ignore. Sentry bots, however, typically weren’t so circumspect.

“Prompto,” he said, voice low, as if that made any difference. “Was it like this before? The first time you were here?”

Prompto released him suddenly, jerking back with an apology. Ignis wanted to say he hadn’t minded—hadn’t minded Prompto’s touch in the least—but he said nothing, waiting for an explanation.  
  
The boy looked _guilty,_ of all things. “No,” he whispered. “I...I disabled it.”

“You did,” Ignis said, hearing the flatness of his own voice. Why did he sound like that? His heart was thudding, had been racing this whole time, but now the pace increased. “You hacked a sentry bot.” He _burned_ to ask how— _where_ Prompto could have possibly learned to do that. “That’s...very impressive.” He softened his tone at that, trying not to sound so incredulous and stilted.

Prompto offered him a tentative smile for his effort. “I’m really good with machines. Not just fixing them,” he said. Then he blushed, and looked at the ground. “I don’t mean to—I’m not bragging!”

“No,” Ignis agreed. “But I think you’re entitled to, in this regard.”

The boy looked like he might say something else, but then he went still. Deathly still. The only thing that moved was his head, lifting with eyes rounded in fear. “Did you hear that?” he rasped.

Ignis sharpened his own senses, ignoring the thrum of his heart. At first he heard nothing, and then—

A soft ripple of sound, a low almost-purr. Ignis felt his blood run cold, but he didn’t freeze. Letting fear paralyze him would be a death sentence written by his own hand. He moved. His hand found Prompto’s bicep, and he half-shoved, half-dragged the boy to the recess with the door and the console, thrusting him into it.

“Get the door open!” he snapped, glad his rifle was already in his hand. For a few precious seconds, Prompto just gaped at him. “Now!” Ignis barked, and the boy jolted, blinking, and turned toward the console with a deliberateness that seemed to drag on for ages. Once his hands were on the keyboard, Ignis flattened himself to the edge of the wall, and peered out into the clearing beyond.

Nothing stirred. He should have been paying better attention, because not a damn thing was moving, not even the birds and insects. Everything had gone quiet, hiding and waiting for the danger to pass.

Ignis couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean nothing was there. All he could hear was the tap-tap-tap of Prompto’s fingers on the keys. What was taking so long?

“The password changed,” Prompto whimpered, and Ignis couldn’t be sure if he’d spoken his question out loud, or if Prompto was just keeping him informed. “I didn’t know it would change again, Ignis, I’m sorry—”

“Just get the bloody door open,” Ignis growled, fear making him cold, making him sound furious.

Something moved. It was like the air was shifting, warping, moving between the trees only twenty feet away. At first he couldn’t make sense of what his eyes were seeing, and then the shifting shape resolved itself and all of the breath left his lungs.

Ignis had heard once from a drunk in Diamond City that there were deathclaws that could make themselves invisible. That wasn’t true. Nothing in nature could really do that. What the drunk was talking about, what he’d perhaps seen, was a chameleon effect. Ignis hadn’t thought it would be so complete, so perfect, though. The deathclaw unfolded itself from the ground, the dead-leaf color of its hide lightening as it reached its full ten feet in height.

Had it been stalking them this whole time? Was that what Prompto had heard earlier? The beast considered them now with its small, cruel eyes, the two soft creatures huddled by the blast door quaking with fear. When it moved, Ignis swore he could feel the ground vibrate beneath his feet.

“Prompto,” he said, and he could hear the high, pleading note in his own voice. Prompto’s breathing behind him was hard, panting like he’d been running. They were trapped, a convenient meal. They could split up, each of them darting out in different directions, but the idea made Ignis queasy. Prompto was smaller, not visibly armed, and more noticeably frightened. There would be no outrunning the beast, no matter who it chose to go after, and there was no guarantee that it wouldn’t kill one and then hunt down the other.

Ignis cocked his rifle, aimed, and felt his stomach turn when the monster deftly pounced to the side. Even as big as it was, he knew he wasn’t a good enough shot to hit a moving target that knew how to dodge his shots. And he was shaking now, seeing his death, knowing that this was an ambush just as he’d feared, though not one Prompto could have planned even if he’d wanted to.

The beast advanced, filling his vision, and he could smell it now, the carrion stink of death on its gusting breaths. It was toying with them, he realized. It could have rushed right in, but it knew it had them, knew they were easy targets, and they were making things dull perhaps by not running. So the deathclaw prowled, paraded before them, circling closer and closer. _We’re going to die._

A hand fisted in the back of his shirt, and the deathclaw roared as he was pulled back, pulled away. Ignis expected to feel the solid surface of the blast door, or Prompto crushed behind him. Instead, he stumbled back and back and then he was through the door, falling. Prompto dropped him and threw himself against the door, trying to close it quickly. Ignis was too stunned to think, but his body moved of its own accord. When the deathclaw rammed the door, forcing Prompto back, Ignis _shoved,_ ramming his own shoulder against the cold metal in a manner he was sure would leave bruises _._ They both shoved, together, straining, feet slipping on a concrete floor. Prompto cried out as a taloned hand thrust through the slowly expanding gap, and then Ignis saw a flash of metal, saw blood spurting and heard a wet thump over the deathclaw’s bellow of rage.

And then the door banged shut, and he heard the locking mechanism engage. Ignis’ body wanted to go limp, to sag to the floor, but instead he whirled around and reached for Prompto. The boy shook under his hands as Ignis grasped his shoulders, ran his hands down too-thin arms, to elbows, to hands, feeling wet blood hot under his fingers, but Prompto was whole. Blood welled from a gash on his forearm and he was ghostly pale, but he was _whole._

“I thought—,” Ignis breathed, clutching bony wrists. “God, I thought that it—,” He’d thought that the beast had dismembered Prompto. There was a knife in the boy’s hand, the good hunting knife Ignis had given him, the blade darkened with blood, bits of flesh clinging to the sharp edge. A long, hooked digit lay on the concrete floor at their feet—one of the deathclaw’s talons. The knife was sharp, but Ignis hadn’t thought it was sharp enough to cut through deathclaw hide, tendon, and bone.

Prompto had gotten lucky, he could see. The knife had cut through a joint, but it couldn’t—it should have taken more effort than the quick flash he’d seen—

“You’re bleeding,” he whispered hoarsely, forcing his attention onto the bleeding gash. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

It was a piss poor doctor who didn’t leave home properly supplied, and Ignis knew that all too well. There was a carefully packed satchel hung over his shoulder, containing stimpacks for life and death emergencies, bandages, sutures, alcohol he’d distilled himself, and other necessary things. Ignis winced when he heard something thud against the door behind them, but even a deathclaw wasn’t strong enough to break through several inches of solid steel.

A desk sat nearby, down a short hall from the entrance. Ignis led Prompto away from the door, worried by the dazed look on the young man’s face. He was staring at the wound on his arm as though he couldn’t understand how it had gotten there. Was he going into shock? He certainly didn’t protest when Ignis pushed him to sit on the desk, the chair for which was lying broken on the floor behind it, wasn’t reacting at all to being manhandled when normally close proximity made him shrink away.

First, Ignis pulled out a bottle of purified water. “This may sting,” he said, though Prompto gave no sign of having heard him. When Ignis poured the water over the wound Prompto’s eyelids fluttered in response, but he stayed still, didn’t jerk his arm away. Ignis gave the same warning for the alcohol, and this time Prompto whimpered, blinking away tears as he flexed his arm in Ignis’ grasp. The motion would have pulled on the wound, resulting in further pain, but Prompto fell silent and remained still.

“It isn’t as bad as it looks,” Ignis breathed in relief when the blood was rinsed away and he could see how deep the gash was. Dim lighting flickered overhead, still powered somehow after two centuries, giving Ignis a decent look at the gash. For a wound from a deathclaw, this was barely more than a scratch, not even fully penetrating the epidermis. It was long and shallow and would probably leave a scar, but none of the arteries had been nicked. Ignis felt his heartbeat begin to slow for the first time since he’d laid eyes on the dormant sentry bot. They’d gotten lucky. Very lucky.

He smeared a salve over the gash, applying a generous layer and then waiting a moment for the ointment to absorb into Prompto’s skin before wrapping a protective bandage around the arm. Prompto said nothing throughout the process, though he had begun to tremble. Ignis wanted to comfort him, more than he usually wanted to comfort his patients. Most of the time it was a duty, one he was good at replicating from watching his uncle so often. Even if Ignis felt sympathy, he knew he didn’t possess a natural inclination for interpersonal warmth. Many times he would rather tut and scold over injuries or illnesses that could have been prevented.

“Prompto,” he said, and his voice was gentle with practiced ease, softer than that even. “You’re safe. We both are. That creature isn’t getting in here.” He gave the pale, shaking hand of Prompto’s injured arm a reassuring squeeze. When that had no effect, he haltingly reached up and put a cautious finger under Prompto’s chin, easily tilting the boy’s head up, pulling his gaze away from the now-bandaged wound. He hadn’t stopped staring at it, but now his eyes focused on Ignis, pupils blown wide in a terror that wasn’t abating. His breath came in shallow pants, and Ignis let go of his arm entirely to cup his face in both hands.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, “Prompto? Are you all right?” His skin was clammy under Ignis’ palms, though the color was slowly returning to his face.

“All right,” Prompto’s voice came in a wheeze, barely audible. Ignis wasn’t sure if that was his own words being repeated back at him, or if Prompto was giving an actual answer. Then, “What...what _was_ that?”

Ignis made himself step back, letting his hands drop to follow Prompto’s gaze to the door. The bloody claw still lay on the floor, and there were no further noises from outside. “That was a deathclaw,” he answered. He found himself wanting to feel that silky soft skin under his hands again, which surprised him. When he’d been touching Prompto’s face he hadn’t even registered the sensation, but now it tingled in his hands.

As an afterthought, he asked, “You’ve never seen one before, I take it?”

“Seen what?” Prompto asked, still looking dazed.

“A deathclaw,” Ignis supplied, worried at his state of mind.

“The monster? No. No, I’ve never seen anything _like_ that.” He shuddered, eyes squeezing shut as if he were overcome by the recent memory.

“Well, we’re in here and it’s out there,” Ignis said. Though he did worry that the beast would linger, try to wait them out. They didn’t have much in the way of supplies beyond what Ignis had thought they would need for a day’s hike. Even accounting for emergencies, they didn’t have enough food and water to last beyond a day or two. If the deathclaw lingered…

“I’m sorry,” Prompto said. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I shouldn’t have even _mentioned_ this place.” Now he sounded bitter, shaking his head and letting his gaze fall to the concrete floor.

“There’s nothing to be done about it now,” Ignis said, though he wondered whether the words were reassuring or not. “Do you need a moment? I’d like to have a look around.”

Prompto looked resigned as he shook his head again. “No,” he whispered. “No, I’m fine.” He didn’t sound fine, but Ignis didn’t press him. What he wanted to do was fold the boy into his arms and try to soothe him that way, but Ignis knew he’d already overstepped, pushing well past Prompto’s established boundaries. The boy seemed no worse the wear for it, but he was shaken by the deathclaw and likely just slow to process anything else due to shock.

The bunker made up a single level, long hallways laid out in a square and lined with unoccupied rooms. No people had been there in a long while, not counting Prompto. There was a layer of dust on everything that made Ignis sneeze when the particles were disturbed, but he doggedly inspected each room as Prompto trailed quietly behind him.

To Ignis’ bemusement, the bunker seemed more akin to a pre-war medical office building than to a military installation. The rooms sported workstations, desks with computers and filing cabinets, coffee mugs, waste bins, drawers full of moldering paperwork that held no information of value. Other rooms were clearly used for physical exams, though to Ignis’ disappointment, most of the equipment was rusted, rotted, and useless.

Some of the computers still worked, though, and one of them was even unlocked, no password required to gain access. Ignis was disappointed again, and mildly amused to scan through what was a personal diary of sorts, the owner of which had spent their workdays detailing complaints about their fellow employees.

Prompto was disinclined to try and hack into the computers that were password protected, or at least he made no move to do so. He was shuffling along in Ignis’ wake, watching him pull open more drawers and locate a few old pencils that he pocketed. There really was nothing of interest here, he was beginning to think. Prompto might be able to cannibalize the terminals for parts, and the place might make a suitable emergency shelter, but that wasn’t enough to have risked their lives coming here.

Then they entered what must have been some sort of communal recreational room. There was a table at the center of it surrounded by chairs, a counter on the far wall with a sink and cabinets, and an old refrigerator in the corner. Ignis began idly opening cabinets, and paused with a jolt when he saw they were filled with pre-war boxes of food.

“Prompto,” he said, “Did you check in these cabinets when you were here?”

“Yes,” Prompto said, looking dully at Ignis as he stepped aside.

“You said there was nothing of use here. You could have survived for a few days off of all this,” Ignis said, feeling a creeping sense of disbelief.

Prompto showed the first hint of emotion through his haze of shock, wrinkling his nose up as he eyed the food. “But it’s _old._ ”

The disgust in his voice was so genuine that it shocked a laugh out of Ignis. “Prompto,” he said, pulling a pack of steak out of the cabinet, “All of this food was made to outlast a _nuclear war,_ which it has. It was packaged and prepared to last virtually forever, and this food probably isn’t even irradiated, what with having spent the last two-hundred years underground.”

Obviously dubious, Prompto shook his head. “I wasn’t that desperate yet,” he grumbled softly. “Maybe if I hadn’t found you…” he trailed off, and a light dusting of pink rose on his pale cheeks.

Ignis understood. He wasn’t likely to eat the packaged meals unless he had no other choice, but if he’d been lost in the wilderness just barely getting by the way Prompto had been, he would have gladly eaten these. The packaging was nearly pristine, and he could only imagine that the food within was well-preserved and still perfectly edible. More so than the water-damaged, radiation soaked stuff one was more likely to find aboveground, at least.

It was unusual that Prompto didn’t know all of this already. Ignis thought the boy must have been very sheltered indeed if he’d never seen a deathclaw (or that he didn’t know what they were on sight) and didn’t know to take a meal when he had the chance, no matter how unappetizing it might be. And apparently, Prompto considered a melon growing in the dirt more palatable than a whole meal in a box.

“I’m taking these,” Ignis said. “They’ll be good for emergencies.” Prompto pulled a face once more, but said nothing as Ignis packed the boxes into his bag as best he could.

“We may have to eat some of these before we leave, you know,” Ignis said as they left the room. “That deathclaw is likely still waiting outside. It will probably lurk by the door until it finds more likely prey to go after.” And if the stories were anything to go by, it might seek them out later on. Deathclaws were smart enough to hold a grudge, it was said, and Prompto had chopped off one of its claws.

The young man didn’t answer, didn’t say anything as they searched through the rest of the rooms. Ignis was hoping there would be some kind of window to the outside somewhere, though he supposed this wouldn’t be a very effective bunker if there were.

He would have to go outside, he realized. He would probably have to kill the deathclaw, too, though he doubted he had enough ammo to accomplish such a feat. The rifle was a capable weapon when fending off humans or hunting radstag, but a deathclaw? Ignis had read about a gun once called an elephant rifle, and he’d seen pictures of elephants in books. The creatures were enormous, and possessed thick grey hides. An elephant rifle would probably do wonders against a deathclaw, or a super mutant, or yao guai, or hell, even a mirelurk queen for that matter. But Ignis didn’t have one, and fantasizing about being properly armed wouldn’t help them out of this situation.

“How does your arm feel?” Ignis asked as they circled back around to the entrance. There was no answer and he had the oddest worry suddenly that if he turned around that Prompto would have disappeared. “Prompto?” he said, turning with a deliberate ease, allowing himself to sag slightly when he saw his companion trailing quietly along behind him.

“Huh?” Prompto said. He looked distracted, brow furrowed like he was thinking carefully about something. Then he looked down at his bandaged arm. “It’s fine,” he mumbled, avoiding Ignis’ gaze in a way that Ignis took to mean he was lying.

“Please tell me if it’s hurting, or if it’s numb. If it starts to feel hot and you think you feel feverish, you need to tell me immediately,” Ignis said. “This situation has the potential to be rather dire, and I’d rather you be truthful with me, Prompto.”

The young man actually flinched at that, shrinking back with a jerk as if Ignis had raised a hand to strike him. “I’m sorry. It hurts a little,” Prompto admitted, voice thick, “It’s mostly throbbing.”

Ignis studied him for a moment, concern mounting. This was hardly the time or the place to go delving into backstories, but seeing Prompto so distraught, seemingly out of nowhere, made something in Ignis’ chest lurch.

“Prompto, are you all right?” he asked.

“My arm…,” Prompto began, putting a hand over the bandage, gaze leveled squarely at his own feet.

“Not your arm. Why are you so upset? Was it the deathclaw? Is it because I touched you without asking first?”

“No!” Prompto cried, head jerking up, “No, no it’s not that—it’s…” His blue eyes locked on Ignis’ and their gazes held for several long seconds, longer than Prompto had looked him in the eyes to date. “I lied,” he said, and he sounded so tired when he said it. “Or, I just didn’t say anything about it, which is basically lying anyway, right?”

“Didn’t say anything about what?” Ignis asked, trying not to sound wary.

“There’s another level below this one. Downstairs there’s an old science lab, and...and a bunch of weapons,” he admitted, voice tapering to a near whisper toward the end. He was gripping his injured arm so hard now that Ignis worried he would begin bleeding again.

Without a word, he strode forward and gently pried Prompto’s hand away from the bandage, then carefully checked the wrapping to make sure no blood was seeping through. Had Prompto been doing that on purpose, to punish himself?

“Show me,” Ignis said. It wasn’t a command, but Prompto jumped to obey like it had been. He scurried into one of the offices and logged into one of the locked terminals without any difficulty. Ignis watched in silence, and after a moment he heard a grinding noise echo throughout the bunker.

When they went to investigate, Ignis saw that a door had opened in the wall behind the desk at the entrance, leading to a metal staircase. Ignis went down first, and Prompto followed meekly in his wake.

Ignis had been hoping to find supplies in the bunker, but the laboratory wasn’t exactly the sort of place where medicines were made, he realized. “What is all this?” he asked as he stood in the doorway, looking over the tables and the various apparatus that he’d read about but never seen. A mass spectrometer, a centrifuge, a real alembic that wasn’t cobbled together from spare jars. All of it was either too large or too delicate to carry out between the two of them. There were also bodies, long desiccated down to skeletons, laid out on tables. The air inside the lab was stale with a chemical undertone.

“They did tests,” Prompto said softly, leaning against the door jamb as if for support. “They pretended it was a rehabilitation center for sick people.”

“Underground?” Ignis said, “That seems unusual.” Not that he had an entirely clear understanding of what may or may not have been unusual before the war. Surely, most of their daily lives took place aboveground.

Ignis heard a soft rustle of fabric, and could just make out Prompto shrugging in his peripheral vision. When he turned his gaze that way, the young man was looking paler than usual as he nibbled on a thumbnail. There was a flash of those perfect teeth, and Ignis felt a mad urge to grab his wrist and stop him from ruining them by gnawing away at his own digits.

“Why didn’t you tell me this was down here?” He didn’t think he sounded upset, because he wasn’t, not really. Prompto turned away from him regardless.

Which made it all the more surprising that he actually answered the question. “It made me feel sick. The people who came here thought they were going to get help, but instead they…” He took a shuddering breath, his voice wobbly with suppressed emotion. “This is why I don’t—I didn’t—I _don’t_ like doctors. They see people as experiments, and they only care about the results, even if it kills someone.”

Ignis was beginning to feel somewhat ill himself. “Prompto, I’ve never done anything like _this,_ ” he said with a gesture that encompassed the room behind him. “I’m a medical doctor. I treat illnesses and wounds. I don’t experiment unless everything else I’ve tried hasn’t worked, and I always ask for permission first.” He could see Prompto was squeezing his bandaged wound again, though his expression was hidden with his back turned.

So Ignis pressed onward. “Prompto, in the Old World there was a code that doctors lived by. They pledged first to do no harm. There are no laws to hold me to any sort of ethical code of conduct these days, but I still swore never to harm anyone who came to me seeking aid. Even if I _could_ , I would never perform any sort of illicit testing on anyone.”

Slowly, Prompto turned again to face him. “I know,” he said, expression open and earnest. “I know that, but I’m still afraid. I guess I’m a coward, because all you’ve done is be nice to me and let me live in your house. But I’m still scared you’re going to...I don’t even _know._ You don’t have any lab equipment. Or a _lab._ But you don’t need to have that stuff to hurt people.”

“No,” Ignis agreed, “You don’t.”

An ache had formed in his chest as Prompto spoke; it was a slow, gaping pain. Empathy, he thought it was called. The young man was clearly speaking from experience, and Ignis was torn between horrified curiosity, and a deep anger that demanded a pound of flesh from whomever would harm an innocent in such a way.

Who would treat someone like an experiment? Who _could,_ in this day and age? There were few enough organizations left in the world that possessed the means and the motive, and Ignis wasn’t even sure that half of them truly existed. What any of them could want with Prompto was a mystery, he was so quiet and unassuming, and—

_A flash of perfect teeth._ _Perfect skin, free of blemishes, healthy, too healthy, too perfect._

_No. It can’t be what I’m thinking, it’s preposterous. A superstition._

“I shouldn’t complain,” Prompto murmured. He’d gone from squeezing his wound to hugging himself, gaze lingering somewhere around Ignis’ knees. “My life...it was a lot better than some people have.”

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Ignis focused on this new melancholic state. “Prompto, just because other people have it worse doesn’t mean your own suffering doesn’t count. You’re allowed to be upset by your past. Pain isn’t a competition.”

For a wonder, the boy looked surprised by the words. Or maybe it wasn’t surprising. Ignis had heard plenty of variations of the phrase “suck it up” in his lifetime. Whatever monsters had inflicted damage on Prompto likely hadn’t had any qualms about telling him he wasn’t so bad off.

“I think we should leave,” Ignis said. “At least go upstairs, try to figure out how to deal with that deathclaw.”

“No,” Prompto objected slowly. “No, I’m fine. Besides, I have an idea about that.” If he was perturbed by the abrupt change of subject, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was relieved not to have to talk about himself anymore. He’d revealed quite a bit, and probably without meaning to. Probably more than he realized.

“Oh? Do tell,” Ignis said. So Prompto did, and Ignis knew as he listened to the plan that the luckiest day of his life was the day he’d found Prompto stealing from his garden.

◊◊◊

“Are you sure you can do this?” Ignis asked as Prompto sat down at the terminal in the armory. He wasn’t quite sure why a medical testing laboratory in a hidden bunker needed an armory, but he supposed the Pre-War military hadn’t needed any reason beyond “because we felt like it.”

The question was met with an exasperated look. “Yeah,” Prompto said. “I’m sure. I can reroute the system commands from here. This terminal controls all the security measures for the bunker, so I should be able to remote-access that big robot from in here.”

“Sentry bot,” Ignis supplied.

“What?” Prompto was distractedly typing away at the computer, an attractive little divet forming between his brows as he focused.

“The robot outside is called a sentry bot.”

“Oh,” Prompto said. Then, under his breath, “Who comes up with the names for all this weird shit.” It was a rhetorical question, clearly. Ignis felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Was this Prompto coming out of his shell? And to think, all it had taken was a deathclaw attack.

“There were cameras outside at one point, but they’re busted now. Figures. I can tell if the robot goes into offensive mode, but not what it’s fighting against. We’ll have to go upstairs and take a chance at cracking the door open. If anything, we’ll be able to draw that claw-man out into the open.”

“‘Claw-man’,” Ignis echoed, and he had trouble keeping the mirth out of his voice. “You mean the deathclaw?”

“Whatever it’s called,” Prompto said, taking a few final stabs at the keyboard before pushing away. “Should we…,” he paused, licked his lips as his eyes roved around the room. “Should we take some weapons?”

Plainly the idea wasn’t an appealing one to Prompto, but Ignis couldn’t let him go back outside unarmed.

“Do you know how to use a gun?” he asked, and was surprised when Prompto gave a shy nod.

“Kind of,” he said. “I’m used to shooting stationary targets in an enclosed range, though.”

_Curiouser and curiouser,_ Ignis thought. The line from an old story his uncle used to read to him as a child about a strange and mysterious world seemed fitting. Now wasn’t the time to ruminate further on such things, though; they needed to escape the bunker without being devoured.

Prompto selected what he probably considered to be the least intimidating weapon available—a revolver that fit easily in his hand. Once it was cleaned of a layer of grimy dust, Ignis showed him how to load it and had him fire a round into an old cork board hanging on the wall to test his aim. The single shot hit dead center on the X Ignis had etched onto the surface—either it was a lucky shot, or Prompto had impeccable aim. Ignis found he was inclined to believe the latter.

“It’s so loud!” Prompto complained, rubbing at his ears as they returned to the upper level. They were even until they reached the hallway, then Prompto dropped slightly behind, footsteps slowing.

“It won’t be quite as bad once we’re outside,” Ignis told him with a glance back. “Though between the sentry bot and the deathclaw, I’m sure it’ll be plenty noisy otherwise.”

Prompto’s reply was muttered, almost too quiet for Ignis to hear. “I hope the robot can stand up against that monster.”

Pausing, Ignis waited for Prompto to catch up to him. _He’s frightened. Hell, I’m frightened. We might both die before the end of the day._

While that could be true of any day, Ignis found he preferred an air of uncertainty when it came to the prospect of his own demise. Knowing death potentially waited for him on the other side of that bunker door made him wish he’d spent the day weeding his garden. _That deathclaw was less than a few miles from my home, it could have easily found us regardless of whether we’d ventured out into the woods today._

Better to kill it now and have it done. The claws and horns would fetch a decent price in town, and some of the meat would hopefully still be edible even after the sentry bot riddled the beast with bullets. _Getting ahead of ourselves. Focus on the task at hand._

The severed talon still lay on the floor in the entryway where they had left it. Dried splotches of blood dotted the floor around it—Ignis kicked the gruesome thing out of the way and positioned himself with his hand on the door release. He had a new weapon in hand—not an elephant rifle, but a shotgun, something with a wider range that could do more damage than a single round from his own rifle, which was now slung across his back.

Ignis had seen shotgun wounds, usually on bodies that had already grown cold, sporting ugly maws of blood and fractured bone where the shotgun had been aimed. If such a weapon could blast a human body apart, then it would do _some_ damage to a deathclaw.

“I’ll go first. You stay in the doorway and keep the door ajar, in case I need to retreat quickly,” Ignis said. He could feel Prompto standing behind him, huddled unusually close.

“What if…,” Prompto’s voice caught, and Ignis could imagine what he was trying to say. _What if it kills you? What if it kills us both?_

“Cover me, all right?” Ignis said, looking back over his shoulder. Prompto was almost close enough to rest his chin on Ignis’ shoulder, close enough that Ignis could count the freckles splashed across the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. His eyes were wide and bright and so scared, but he steeled his expression as Ignis met his gaze.

“Yeah,” Prompto said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Ignis found himself resisting the urge to reach up and brush Prompto’s silky blond fringe back behind his ear. Their predicament was forcing certain things into perspective, and Ignis wished he’d spent less time being suspicious of Prompto, wondering if the young man was going to put a knife in his back, figuratively or literally. _He was the only one of us with a reason to be wary, and if I’d bothered to look closer without that veneer of paranoia..._ Well, he had seen the signs, the way Prompto shrank into himself, the subtle fear, and Ignis had still suspected the worst of him coming out here today.

“Be careful,” Ignis said thickly. It took an effort to tear his gaze away from those intent blue eyes. _Beautiful._ The word echoed in the back of his mind as he steadied his breathing and tried to slow his racing heart. Was it fear spurring his body to react this way, or the close proximity of the man behind him? _Both,_ he decided.

The clearing outside was empty, or at least the narrow portion Ignis could see through the cracked door was. The earth was disturbed, large gouges carved in the dry soil and deadfall from massive claws. It looked like the deathclaw had raged outside after having its talon sliced off, though now it was out of sight somewhere. Ignis doubted it would come charging out just at the sound of the door clicking open—he would have to expose himself, leave himself vulnerable to attack.

Mouth dry, shotgun in hand, he took a hesitant step over the threshold, feeling Prompto move in tandem behind him. He could hear the other man’s heavy breaths, could feel Prompto’s fingers brush against his as his hand moved to prop the door open.

“I don’t see it,” he whispered.

“It may have run off,” Ignis said, though, again, he doubted it. “Stay on your guard.”

He eased forward to the edge of the recess. Nothing moved in the clearing, and nothing made a sound, the world gone still again in the presence of danger. The beast must still be out there, and it could make itself nigh on invisible. For all Ignis knew, it could have been hunkered just out of reach, waiting for him to get far enough away from the door to strike.

As he stepped out into the open, he could hear the hum of the sentry bot. It made a loud whirring noise that set his teeth on edge for a moment—Prompto had said he could program it not to attack them, though Ignis had no idea how the machine could possibly differentiate between targets.

Halfway into the center of the clearing he stopped and listened again. With his halting forward motion, the journey from the door to this point had seemed to take ages, though with a normal stride it was barely ten steps. Again, nothing stirred, not even the barest breath of air. Ignis turned, weapon raised, scanning the trees, and for the second time he missed it. As he turned to face the entrance to the bunker, the slightest rustle of movement drew his eyes upward, and he felt his heart sink into his shoes.

Perched on the lip of the edifice above the door was the deathclaw. Its chameleon skin lent a nauseating effect that made its form difficult to distinguish from the landscape, but he could just make it out. As the color drained from its hide, he thought it looked bigger than he had remembered, crouched above him like a stone gargoyle on a Pre-War building.

With one short leap, it could be on him. If he made a run toward the bunker entrance it could swipe one of its taloned hands down and disembowel him completely. _Why didn’t I think of this?_ He and Prompto had come the same way, jumping down from the top of the hill into the clearing, so why hadn’t he considered that the deathclaw could do the same thing? It was completely illogical that he wouldn’t have sat to think through every angle, and yet he hadn’t done so because...God, because he was thinking only of protecting Prompto. He was thinking he’d draw the beast to him and Prompto would be safe within the doorway while the robot did its work. It hadn’t occurred to him that the deathclaw would set its own trap.

“Ignis?” Prompto called out, hesitant. He couldn’t see what Ignis saw, of course, and as if his voice had been the sign the deathclaw was waiting for, it moved. Slowly, it extended its forelimbs and Ignis heard Prompto gasp as they came into view. Its clawed hands braced easily against the ground and the rest of its body followed with a thud. Ignis still had his shotgun up, had it leveled directly at the beast’s face, but God it was so close. It knew it had him, it knew he’d never be able to kill it with a single shot, which was all he would be able to manage before it was tearing his throat out.

A part of him thought, _why bother then?_ Well, it was going to kill him, but he could at least spit in its eye first, so to speak.

Before he could lay his finger on the trigger, a shot rang out. For a moment he wasn’t certain where the noise had come from, but then two things happened almost simultaneously: the deathclaw roared, wheeling about toward the bunker entrance, and then a grinding sound filled the air as the sentry bot rolled out of its recess in the wall and rotated toward the snarling beast.

“Ignis, get down!” Prompto’s voice was barely audible over the noise. Ignis saw the bot’s arms taking aim, leveling its twin miniguns at the deathclaw and he threw himself to the side, away from both threats.

As soon as he hit the ground, the world seemed to explode around him. He covered his head with his hands, releasing his grip on the shotgun as the barrage of bullets rending the air and the deathclaw’s howling pounded against his ear drums. He thought he could feel the ground shuddering beneath him, and kept waiting for pain, for the deathclaw to step on him and crush his body, or for the sentry bot to turn its guns on him. The battle couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes, but it seemed to drag on for hours. At one point he felt something sweep over him, a gust of wind ruffling his hair, but then, moments later, there was silence.

It took him a few moments to realize that it was over, and that he wasn’t dead. He didn’t seem to be able to move, though, which was fine. He could just lie there on the ground, face down in the dirt until his heart stopped feeling as though it was going to erupt from his chest and his ears stopped ringing.

“Ignis!” A jolt went through him, and he heard footsteps racing across the clearing. Hands grabbed at his shoulder and tugged, rolling him onto his back, and he let himself be turned. Prompto’s face appeared above him, pale with terror, eyes shining. “Are you hurt?!” he panted as he knelt at Ignis’ side.

“No,” Ignis said dully, and he managed to summon the will to sit up and survey the scene around him. The sentry bot was steaming, vents opened to expose its overheated innards, but it appeared to be unscathed. The deathclaw on the other hand.

It was still alive, Ignis realized. Lying prone only six feet away, bloody and riddled with bullets, wheezing its final breaths. One cold eye was watching them, and he thought he could sense the creature’s anger and disbelief at having been bested.

“I thought,” Prompto’s gasping words brought Ignis’ attention back to him, “I thought—you weren’t moving, I thought it _hit_ you.”

“No,” Ignis said, feeling lightheaded. “No, I’m fine.” And he was. He was alive—they both were, and neither of them were even seriously injured. It seemed utterly impossible.

“Your plan worked,” Ignis said. Prompto’s fist was still clutching at his shoulder. “You shot it, didn’t you? When it was between us?”

“Oh, yeah,” Prompto breathed raggedly. “It was so close to you. I had to distract it.” His breaths began to slow, and color was returning to his face.

“My hero,” Ignis said with a feeling of genuine wonderment. He had no idea what possessed him to do what he did next, but Prompto was there, alive, whole and beautiful, and Ignis could only wonder in that moment what Prompto’s chapped, pink lips would feel like against his own mouth. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or the thrill of having defied death that urged him on, but Ignis found his hand cupping the back of Prompto’s neck as he leaned in to kiss him.

_Soft,_ he thought. So soft, but the kiss was too brief for him to feel much more than that. With a gasp, Prompto jerked back and Ignis didn’t try to hold him in place or chase his lips, though his own lips were tingling and his body felt suddenly lit from within by a racing flame.

Then he registered that Prompto was staring at him, expression owlish, fingers pressed to his lips in shock.

_Apologize,_ Ignis thought wildly, but his voice was caught in his throat, locked behind a burgeoning panic. He’d just ruined everything, he thought. God, what had he done that for?

They both jerked as the deathclaw groaned, the sound piteous. Ignis winced, worried that the sentry bot would begin firing again, but it only continued to vent the heat away from its internal workings.

Wordlessly, Prompto let go of where he had still been gripping a fistful of Ignis’ shirt, and walked on wobbly legs over to the deathclaw. Ignis made a noise somewhere in the back of his throat, a warning sound, but Prompto didn’t heed him. He had his revolver in hand, and he stopped just short of the creature’s head. Ignis could see the deathclaw’s eyes tracking Prompto, could see it shuddering as it lowed again, the sound of a dying animal.

Prompto said something under his breath, and then raised his weapon. The revolver only shook slightly as he pulled the trigger. All tension drained from the deathclaw as it finally died—the bullet had gone right through its eye, a cleaner shot than the sentry bot could have made. For several long moments Prompto just stood over the massive corpse, then he turned and walked past it, away from Ignis, away from the bot.

Ignis thought he was going to return to the bunker, but the door had closed when Prompto had abandoned his position. Instead, Prompto circled the edifice and began climbing the hill. Rising on shaky legs, spurred by the realization that Prompto had simply decided to leave, Ignis started after him.

He didn’t run, didn’t try to catch up or call out to Prompto to wait. Ignis didn’t feel like he deserved to speak, not to Prompto at least. The deathclaw parts that he had wanted to collect could stay where they were for now, and hopefully scavengers wouldn’t spread the carcass around too much. What was important now was making sure Prompto didn’t run into any trouble on their way back through the woods, and if Prompto didn’t want to return to Ignis’ home...well, he would understand.

Again and again as they walked, Ignis replayed the scene of Prompto pulling away from him in his mind’s eye.

 

**Chapter Four**

The last possible thing on the entire, broken planet Ignis could have wanted to see when they got back to his house was a patient waiting on his doorstep. Thanks to some cruel sense of humor, that was exactly what God, or the universe, or fate, decided to present him with.

A few hours of light were left in the day as they emerged from the woods and saw Ignis’ house sitting on its bare patch of earth. The passage of time seemed incongruous when laid alongside the events of the day—Ignis felt that days should have passed, or that it should be nightfall at least, but it was only mid-afternoon. Disconcerting as these musings were, they didn’t compare to the way his stomach dropped when he spotted the young woman perched on an old crate next to his door, chin in her hands, one booted foot tapping impatiently on the dusty ground.

A part of Ignis wondered if he could coax Prompto back into the woods—they could camp under the stars, and put off returning to the real world until tomorrow morning—but Prompto had already seen the young woman. And he wasn’t stopping, though his forward motion had slowed a bit, allowing Ignis to fall into step beside him.

“Who’s that?” Prompto asked. Though he’d kept his voice low, it apparently hadn’t been low enough. The girl’s head jerked up, blond curls bouncing as she spotted them and sprang to her feet.

“Doc!” she called out, “There you are! I was about to come hunt you down myself!” She looked relieved by his return, and only mildly irritated that he hadn’t been in residence when she’d arrived.

“Cindy,” Ignis greeted as they drew closer, “What can I do for you?” He gave her a quick once-over, but didn’t see any signs of injury or illness. She wore her usual, grease-stained mechanic’s jumpsuit with her name haphazardly stitched beneath the collar, a pair of gloves tucked into the belt around her waist, and a baseball cap tipped up just enough so that the visor didn’t obscure the careless smears of dark grease on her nose and chin.

“It’s not me, Doc,” she said, tipping her hips to the side, expression becoming more distinctly annoyed. “It’s Paw-paw.”

“I’m fine!” The voice came from inside Ignis’ house, followed by a fit of coughing.

Cindy raised her hands helplessly and rolled her eyes. “He’s had that cough for weeks, and he’s been getting fevers off and on, and today he had a fainting spell! _Paw-paw!_ ” She added that last bit for emphasis, as if the very idea of her grandfather fainting was entirely unbelievable.

Ignis sighed, reaching up to pull off his glasses and pinch the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted and filthy and he wanted privacy. How was he meant to apologize to Prompto with this massive distraction? He knew that the longer he put it off the harder it would be to broach the subject, but he couldn’t do it now.

“Well,” he said as he replaced his spectacles, “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Cid was sitting on the cot in Ignis’ front room, looking mutinous in spite of his sickly pallor and wet cough. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me,” he muttered as soon as Ignis walked in the door, Cindy on his heels and Prompto trailing behind. “Just a chest cold.”

“Even a chest cold can develop into something more serious if left untreated,” Ignis said, putting on his No-Nonsense Doctor voice. “And you are not a young man, Cid.”

The look he received at that could have cowed a lesser man. Cid’s deathly glare only lasted a few seconds, though, before he scoffed, which of course triggered another coughing fit. “Dang it!” he spat, looking briefly pained.

“All right, I believe an examination is in order.” Ignis turned to the other two occupants of the room, and made a shooing motion. “Prompto, Cindy, I apologize for not introducing you properly, but I need you both to wait outside.”

“You got it, Doc,” Cindy said. She shot her grandfather a meaningful look, which Cid pretended not to notice, then walked back outside. Prompto looked indecisive for a moment, eyes flickering all over the room before he finally sighed and followed suit. Ignis decided he could at least take comfort in the fact that Prompto only appeared subdued, rather than furious or wary.

Ignis put the kettle on to warm up enough water to fill the basin so he could wash his hands, then slipped into the back room to change into clean clothes. His hands shook as he rolled the sleeves up on his shirt, and he had to take an extended moment to breathe and calm himself. Now wasn’t the time to unpack everything that had happened, but his mind wanted to stray toward reliving the terror of the day.

He deliberately turned and stepped back into the front room, pushing everything down as the kettle began to whistle.

◊◊◊

Cid was an excellent distraction, as it were. Ignis had bought his turret from the old man, so he had some experience dealing with the expected curmudgeonly behavior. Cindy was usually nearby, of course, and she was skilled in curbing Cid’s demeanor. The two ran something like a junkyard/repair shop on the outskirts of the nearby settlement, where they bought and sold scrap and spare parts, and built various pieces of equipment.

Sick Cid was more belligerent than usual, grumbling nonstop as Ignis listened to his lungs and took his temperature. The older man was most certainly leaning toward the pneumonia side of chest congestion, which was deadly under any circumstances. When Ignis firmly informed him of this fact, Cid finally subsided, though he still wore an air of skepticism. He was the sort who believed in home remedies of the alcohol-blended variety, which of course only tended to make matters worse in most cases. _You can’t drown bacteria by drinking whiskey,_ was a line Ignis had told more than one stubborn patient.

“You’ll need to rest for at least a week,” Ignis said, “And you’re staying here so I can monitor you.”

“I got a business to run—!” Cid immediately objected, but Ignis held a hand up.

“Cindy is perfectly capable, and you have several large guard dogs and at least a dozen turrets surrounding that mountain of detritus on your land,” Ignis said shortly, “And if you choke to death on your own mucus you won’t be much help to anyone, now will you?”

Cid settled back on the cot from which he’d tried to rise, rubbing at his chest and grumbling something that sounded like “whippersnapper” and “upjumped nursemaid.” Ignis retrieved a jar from his shelf of medicine and handed it to the old man, instructing him to spread the ointment inside on his chest.

“I’m going to talk to Cindy, and when I come back I expect to find you resting on that cot.” Ignis was grateful, in a way, that it was Cid he was dealing with and not a patient that needed coddling and gentle words. A firm hand was a better tool for him at the moment—if he’d had to be soft he thought he might have had a harder time controlling his own emotions.

“Yes, sir,” Cid huffed with more than a little sarcasm, but he slowly eased onto his back and sighed as he stretched out.

Ignis stepped outside, expecting to see Prompto and Cindy idling awkwardly by the door, but they were nowhere in sight. For a moment Ignis felt oddly disconnected from himself as he imagined that Prompto had simply decided to leave without a word. And then he heard the sound of voices from behind the house, and the vice that had clamped around his heart eased. _Get ahold of yourself,_ he thought as he took a few steadying breaths. _Rattled. I’m rattled, that’s all._

Traumatized, more like. And losing Prompto on top of nearly dying all in one day would have been too much to handle.

Prompto was showing Cindy the workbench, as it turned out. The motor he’d been working on was still laid out there, and Ignis was surprised to see that they were both bent over it, heads almost literally together as they talked shop.

“There’s gotta be a rotor like this somewhere in Paw-paw’s scrap yard,” Cindy was saying as Ignis moved around the side of the building. “I tell you what, I was gonna offer to fix up that old generator as part of our payment for Doc’s help, but it looks like you’ve got repairs handled around here. I can hook you up with parts, though, if you can’t scrounge any up on your own.”

“You could? You don’t mind?” Prompto asked. He was smiling, Ignis saw. Unreservedly, a grin stretched across his face. It was so much more than the uncertain little smiles he had offered to Ignis. His expression took the breath from Ignis’ lungs, regardless of whether it was directed at him. But God, did Ignis want Prompto to smile at him like that.

“‘Course not, Doc Iggy is fixing up that old coot of a grandfather of mine,” Cindy said, and she gave Prompto a friendly smack on the arm with the back of her hand—and he didn’t even blink. Didn’t flinch. “And hey, you ever need a project to work on, you can come by the scrap yard. We’ve always got something needs fixin’.”

“Oh. Thank you! I will!” Prompto said. He looked like nothing would make him happier in the entire world.

“Cindy,” Ignis said. As Cindy turned away from him, Prompto visibly deflated, and he wouldn’t meet Ignis’ eye.

“How is he, Doc?” Cindy asked. _Focus,_ Ignis told himself.

He gave the girl a brief explanation of her grandfather’s condition and his plan to treat Cid, and she was scowling by the time he was finished.

“That old goat would rather drown than admit he can’t swim. I’m glad you’re not afraid to set him straight, Ignis,” she said.

“He’s not the worst I’ve had to handle,” Ignis said truthfully. At least Cid had never pulled a knife on him. Yet.

Cindy went back inside to say goodbye to her grandfather. Ignis thought about asking her to stay for dinner, but then she would have had to stay the night and he was already running short on space. It struck him then that Cid was going to be sleeping on the cot that night, and Ignis only had the two places to sleep in his house. Well, poor planning seemed to be the theme of the day, so why not add that to the list?

“I gotta go now if I wanna get back to town before dark, but I’ll come check on ya in a day or two,” Cindy said as she hugged her grandfather goodbye. She stood up, and gave him a stern look as she jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “And you focus on getting over this cold, you hear? You better do exactly what the Doc says, or I’m gonna give you an earful when I get back.”

“You’re just as bossy as your grandma was, you know that girl?” Cid muttered, but he let his granddaughter kiss him on the cheek before she left.

Ignis made soup for dinner, which was a hasty and silent affair. They were all tired, Cid especially. He was snoring minutes after he finished eating and stretched back out on the cot. Prompto had joined them only once the light began to fail, though his grease-free hands suggested he hadn’t actually been doing any tinkering. Ignis hated to imagine him just standing outside, too uncomfortable to come in. _And it’s my own bloody fault._

Prompto spooned soup into his mouth, doing his best to be quiet, though the patient was unlikely to wake up from any noises they made. According to Cindy, Cid could sleep through just about anything. For the first time since they’d met, though, Prompto just didn’t have much of an appetite. He finished what he had in his bowl and then sat at the table, nervously toying with the frayed hem of his shirt.

“I’ll sleep out here tonight,” Ignis announced. His voice sounded too loud in his own ears, though he attributed that to the heavy silence. “There’s enough space on the floor. You can sleep in the back.”

Prompto looked up at him slowly instead of startling. “Why?” he said. Ignis only nodded toward Cid’s sleeping form, and Prompto followed his line of sight. “Oh.” Then, “I don’t want to be back there alone. It’s too dark.”

He spoke softly, without looking at Ignis. Was he ashamed? Ignis felt something lurch behind his ribs, and whatever sort of resolve he might have otherwise had in this situation crumbled to dust. Because, to be perfectly honest, he didn’t much care to be alone in the dark that night either.

“We could share, I suppose,” he offered. “If that’s all right.” Prompto made a vague noise that Ignis took to mean that he found the arrangement more or less agreeable.

“Well, then. I’m off to bed,” Ignis announced wearily. The effort it was taking to stay on his feet was astronomical; he didn’t even bother to wash the dishes, which was something he hardly ever neglected.

He laid down on his mattress in the back with a lantern on, glasses set carefully aside, leaving enough space for Prompto to lie beside him. Part of him expected that Prompto simply wouldn’t join him, that the young man would spend the night sitting in the kitchen until he fell asleep at the table. Or that he’d just get up and leave, disappearing into the night. So it was a welcome surprise when the curtain hanging over the door rustled, and Prompto appeared in the light of the lamp.

Wordlessly, Prompto slipped off his shoes and then got to all fours, crawling into position beside Ignis before slowly shifting himself onto his back. Then they simply laid there like that, side by side in the flickering light, not saying a word. Prompto’s shoulder was pressed against Ignis’, shockingly warm, and soon Ignis felt his entire world narrowing down to that point of contact. He wanted that warmth, more than he’d wanted anything else in his entire life. He wanted to pull Prompto into his arms and hold him there, to tell him that he never needed to tell Ignis any of his secrets, that it didn’t matter, that the only thing that mattered was that they were alive. _And that I’m sorry, of course. I’m sorry that I—_

“Ignis?” The whisper of his name set his heart to pounding, and it took him a moment to find his voice.

“Yes?”

Silence for several beats. “Are you…” He heard a sound like Prompto wetting his lips, but kept his gaze on the ceiling above. Everything was blurry anyway, without his glasses.

“Are you mad at me?” The question sent a stab of surprise through Ignis that was so sharp he nearly sprang upright. As it was, he could feel himself go rigid, and he couldn’t force his muscles to relax again.

“Why would—whyever would I be mad at you?” he managed to ask.

“Because,” Prompto said. For a few minutes it seemed that that was all he was going to say, and the tension in his own body was beginning to make Ignis’ neck hurt. “Because you...you kissed me, and I…” Prompto started again, though he was unable to get further.

“God, Prompto,” Ignis said, voice going thick as he turned his head. Prompto looked like he was close to tears, though his shining eyes remained fixed overhead. His hands were clasped so tightly over his stomach that the knuckles had gone white, and Ignis felt his stomach twist.

“No,” he said, firmly, “I’m not mad at you, Prompto. If either of us should be angry, it’s you. I’m the one who...I should have asked you first, if you wanted me to kiss you. And I apologize that I didn’t.” A hint of desperation colored his voice toward the end, and he hoped Prompto didn’t notice.

“Oh,” Prompto said. “But…” He blinked, reaching up to run a hand over his eyes, and then he was turning, twisting onto his side to face Ignis, and there they were again, face to face, so close Ignis could feel Prompto’s breath tickling against his chin. “I didn’t...I’m not mad. I was...I just pulled away because nobody ever kissed me before. You surprised me.” He seemed embarrassed by that, and the conversation would have been absurd, should have been, if they hadn’t nearly died that day.

“I thought you hated doctors,” Ignis said, a stupid statement, but it was the first thing that entered his stunned mind that was halfway coherent.

Prompto shrugged, and Ignis felt something touch his collar bone—a finger, Prompto’s, tracing back and forth along the ridge of his clavicle. “The doctors I was around before didn’t care about helping anyone but themselves. You care about people. You...You’re better than them.” He blushed as he spoke, a deep crimson shade that made something ache deep inside of Ignis’ chest.

“I see,” Ignis said, the words raspy.

“I _was_ afraid of you,” Prompto continued, brow dipping as he spoke, like he was trying hard to explain an abstract concept. “When you said you were a doctor, like I told you in the bunker. _That_ scared me, and the doctor part still kind of scares me, but _you_ don’t scare me.” He made a frustrated noise. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“No, I think I understand,” Ignis said, and he did. Phobias, trauma, they weren’t easy to get over, and he was fine with that. All that mattered was that Prompto didn’t despise him.

Prompto settled beside him, but now that he was on his side there was space between their bodies. Ignis could feel his heat radiating across the gap, but it wasn’t enough, wasn’t the same as physical contact.

“Hey, Ignis?” he asked softly a few minutes later.

“Hm?” Ignis was wide awake now, but the sound was a sleepy one.

“You said...you should have asked before you kissed me. Is that...do people normally do that? Ask?”

Ignis felt his heart begin to pound all over again. Prompto was going to kill him at this rate. “Sometimes,” he said. “The first time, they should. It’s...respectful. I admittedly lost my head, and forgot myself.”

“Oh.” There was a shuffling noise, and then Prompto was up on an elbow leaning over him, a nervous, determined look on his face. “Well...can I kiss you then? You don’t have to say yes, I—”

“Yes,” Ignis blurted. He was picking up Prompto’s habits now. That was the only explanation for it, for the lack of forethought when he spoke.

Relief flashed over Prompto’s face, and then anxiety, and then a tense resolved look, and he shuffled closer, one hand resting on Ignis’ chest as he leaned in. Ignis remembered his own first kiss, and expected the same reckless mashing of lips and painful click of teeth on teeth. He wouldn’t have minded it, honestly, would have thrilled in the experience of kissing Prompto for the first time (or second, technically).

The hesitant press of Prompto’s lips against his, the shy gentleness of it, was so much better, though. The soft brush of his mouth flooded Ignis with warmth; there was only the barest hint of pressure, but Ignis returned it, and that was _all_ he did. He wouldn’t sully this moment by grabbing Prompto, or rushing forward like a lust-addled teenager. After whatever horrors Prompto had faced in his past, he deserved this kind of sweetness.

When he pulled back after a grand total of ten seconds, Prompto’s face was flushed a high pink color. The contrast made his freckles stand out like dozens of little stars, and Ignis found himself brushing his knuckles down a blazing hot cheek. Affection for this young man he still barely knew began to burn low in his chest as Prompto studied his face. Ignis thought that Prompto was trying to gauge his reaction without asking, but he didn’t want to patronize Prompto by telling him he’d done well for his first try. That felt too much like something from a bad Old World romance novel, one that spoke of “ravishing the virgin” and “stealing innocence,” which always left a bad taste in his mouth.

So instead Ignis curled his hand around the back of Prompto’s neck and urged him down for another kiss. If he’d wanted to, Prompto could have easily pulled away, but he leaned back in easily. Ignis thrilled again, static charging through him as he responded this time with eagerness. Slowly, he moved his mouth against Prompto’s, which earned him a surprised little snort. Ignis managed to resist the urge to laugh, but he couldn’t suppress a smile as Prompto began to imitate him.

It was a rare thing, Ignis knew, to experience intimacy without a sense of urgency or desperation. Perhaps, at one time, such things had been more commonplace, but he knew he ought to savor this moment. For now they were safe, held together in the dim lamplight with all of the trauma of the afternoon locked deep away.

Lost in this soft haze, Ignis was emboldened enough to angle his mouth and dart his tongue across Prompto’s lips. The startled gasp that let him slip his tongue into Prompto’s warm mouth was followed by a low moan that charged through him like a hot bolt of lightning. Shuddering, Ignis broke off the kiss, drawing in a deep breath. A disappointed whine from Prompto made ignoring the surge of lust washing through him all the more difficult.

Ignis squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten, and when that didn’t work he counted to twenty. He could feel Prompto’s eyes on him the entire time, and he scratched his fingers through the hair at the nape of Prompto’s neck, hoping that it was a soothing action.

Just as he had suspected, Prompto was watching him expectantly when he finally opened his eyes. There was heat in that gaze, and Ignis took another moment to appreciate the way Prompto’s throat bobbed. His eyes looked dark violet in the low light with the pupils blown wide, framed heavily by thick black lashes. A few loose strands of silky golden hair fell across his forehead, and that lovely wrinkle was back between his brows.

“You are gorgeous,” Ignis murmured without meaning to, and Prompto’s eyes widened and then began to dart around the enclosed space. There weren’t many places for him to look when they were alone and so close together, though. “Did I upset you?” Ignis asked.

“No, I—,” Prompto paused, swallowed audibly, and finally settled his eyes on Ignis again, though Ignis strongly suspected that Prompto was actually looking at his forehead. “I was thinking the same thing, kind of. About you, I mean!”

The panicked clarification made Ignis bark a short laugh, and he had to quickly cover his mouth with his free hand. They both listened in the quiet moment, and Ignis could just make out the buzz of Cid’s snoring from the front room.

Sighing, Ignis let his hand drop away. “We should try to sleep,” he said. He licked his lips, and swore he detected a hint of sweetness there that certainly hadn’t come from him. “Do you—,” he began. He certainly hadn’t been shy about kissing, but now he felt almost childish. The need for physical comfort shouldn’t have been a shameful thing, but it was difficult to ask for all the same. Ignis was accustomed to being alone, coping alone, and the words nearly stuck in his throat.

“I’d like to hold you,” he managed, though now he was the one avoiding gazes, his own fixed on the ceiling now, “If that’s all right.”

What he wasn’t expecting was to feel Prompto’s hand on his jaw, turning his face so that their eyes met. He worried a very pink lower lip between his teeth, then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

Ignis turned toward him slightly, arranging them both so they fit together comfortably. Prompto relaxed against his chest, head tucked into the crook of Ignis’ neck, one hand pressed over Ignis’ heart.

“If you get uncomfortable just roll away from me, all right? Don’t worry about waking me up,” Ignis said. “And...if I seem to be having a nightmare, just…” _Hold me closer,_ he wanted to say, but this time the words refused to come out.

“I could...rub your back,” Prompto offered softly. “I’ve seen people do that before.”

The only response Ignis had for that was to briefly tighten his arms around Prompto and press a kiss to the top of his head. _Yes,_ he thought. _That will do._

As it happened, neither of them had any nightmares as they slept.

◊◊◊

Cid stayed with them for a week, though at the three day mark when his fevers subsided he determined he was fit to go back to work immediately. It took two hours for Ignis to convince the old man that he could still be sick and exhausting himself was a sure way for the virus in his blood to get the upper hand again.

Ignis finally had to resort to flat out _ordering_ Cid to stay in bed. “You need rest so your body can heal, you old git,” he bit out while the mechanic glowered. Insults went further with Cid than deference or coddling, though. He grudgingly accepted Ignis’ reasoning, and in spite of all the griping he did that week, he was happy enough to eat Ignis’ cooking, too.

Having company around made things with Prompto...interesting, to say the least. Frustrating was a better word for it. Ignis doubted Cid would care, in any sense, about this new relationship. All the same, he found both himself and Prompto shying away from each other with prying eyes around.

That first morning Ignis woke with Prompto in his arms had felt surreal. Prompto had been asleep still, snoring so softly it was barely audible, tucked securely against Ignis’ chest. He was warm, too, like a living wood stove, and Ignis could feel his heartbeat and each measured breath he took in his sleep.

Ignis hadn't wanted that moment to end. He'd wanted to preserve them both forever in that little world where there were no threats, no obligations. In that space of time everything between them was new and perfect and uncomplicated.

Then Prompto had snorted as he came awake, and Ignis hid his face against a warm shoulder to smother his foolish grin. Prompto had stretched in his arms, arching against him, and Ignis had taken advantage of his exposed throat to press a few fluttering kisses to his skin. That earned him a surprised giggle, which was such a lovely sound Ignis would have kept going, kept kissing, if Cid hadn't exploded into a coughing fit in the next room.

Extracting himself from Prompto had been a gargantuan task, mostly fueled by Ignis’ own reluctance rather than physical difficulty. But he'd gotten up, dressed quickly, donned his glasses, and gotten to work brewing up some medicinal tea.

Cid’s cough tapered off over the next several days, and he spent his time regaling them both with stories from his youth, or lecturing them, rather. Somehow, Prompto wound up shyly presenting the water filter motor he'd been rebuilding and Cid had offered a frank critique of the work. Ignis worried he was being too harsh, but Prompto only listened avidly to any and all advice Cid imparted to him.

“You don't mind him lecturing you?” Ignis asked quietly when they were both outside, out of Cid’s hearing. Prompto was at what Ignis was beginning to think of as Prompto’s workbench, and Ignis was a few feet away, tending to the row of corn he was attempting to cultivate.

“No?” Prompto said, over his shoulder, “I like him. He's rude, but he's not mean, and he was right when he said I was working too fast. I could make a mistake being impatient, and wind up having to start over.”

“Ah,” was all Ignis could think to say to that. Prompto’s assessment of Cid’s character after one conversation was spot on. It stung a bit that Prompto was apparently unafraid of the acerbic old man, but Ignis knew that sort of jealousy was irrational. Earning Prompto’s trust was a point of pride for him, but he couldn’t let that go to his head.

He took the opportunity, while they were alone, to distract Prompto with a lingering kiss. The touch at the small of his back didn't startle him as badly as it might have a week ago, but Prompto still jerked his head up sharply. When he realized what Ignis was intending, he fluttered his eyelashes, adorably bashful, and accepted the kiss.

By the end of the week, Prompto had the water purifier working. Cindy showed up one morning with a spool of cable and between the two of them they strung the wire along from the generator shed down to the river, suspending it between trees so that it was well beyond head height. Ignis would have accepted the cable itself as payment for Cid’s treatment, but Cindy also pressed a small lockbox full of caps on him as well as a somewhat heavy wrapped parcel. “For your trouble,” she said which Ignis could only assume referred to having to put up with Cid for a week.

Having an easy supply of fresh, clean water was well worth any trouble. Ignis was certain that if it weren’t for Prompto, the old purifier would have sat in the river and continued rusting away for months or years. Left to his own devices, Ignis would have kept putting it off, particularly if the generator hadn’t been so thoroughly repaired.

When Cindy came around to collect her grandfather at midday on the seventh day, Ignis gave her a bag of medicine. “He’ll have to finish that off, just two doses a day. If he doesn’t, he could get sick again, and if he does fall ill he’ll have to come back here and stay in bed for another week.” Ignis directed that last part with a pointed look at Cid, who rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need to be babysat,” he grumbled, arms folded over his chest. “Let’s get along now, Cindy.”

“Yes Paw-paw,” she said sweetly. Then, to Ignis, “Thanks, Doc. And you too, Prom. I enjoyed talkin’ shop with ya. If you’re ever in town, you oughtta swing by the scrap yard.” She tossed Prompto a wink and made a finger-gun hand gesture in his direction, then joined her grandfather—who was already making his way down the path toward the road without a word of thanks—and hooked her arm through his.

Ignis spared a moment to watch them. Both of them were armed, and he doubted they’d meet any trouble on the road, but he always worried when he set a patient loose. Cid was more likely than most to overtax himself in the day to day workings of his life—that was how he’d gotten so sick in the first place. Ignis imagined the old man could hold his own in a fight, no matter his physical condition, however.

With an effort, he pulled away from that—the doctor mindset. Now he was alone with Prompto, which was what he’d been wanting all week. Only… he didn’t quite know what to do. Ignis had never had a live-in paramour. Back in the Isles, he’d had his share of encounters amongst the camps and villages he and his uncle traveled through, but not with anyone he cared to carry on with. To their patients in those days, he was a stranger, a rare outsider who could be trusted just enough to yank out a rotten tooth or stitch up a knife wound, just safe enough to take to bed for a night or two.

Prompto lived with him. They’d been sleeping next to one another for an entire week, stealing kisses in the dark. There had been dozens of innocent, perhaps accidental touches; a hand on the small of his back, or fingers brushing when something was passed between them, or shoulders bumping together as they stood side-by-side at the sink. Ignis wondered if he’d imagined the connection he’d felt forming between them.

Had it been there before that fateful trip to the bunker? He’d been thinking of Prompto as someone who required his protection from the moment they’d met, even when paranoia told him that stranger might be working against him. Now he wasn’t certain that Prompto really needed him at all. Aside from one moment of desperation that had resulted in their meeting, Prompto seemed capable. Competent. He could have survived on his own, though it might have been difficult for him at first.

So there must have been something keeping him there with Ignis. Fear, at first. Perhaps loneliness. But he had stayed. He had lain next to Ignis in the dark and asked to kiss him, so it all had to amount to something, didn’t it?

A touch at his elbow startled him, and he looked down to see Prompto standing there, a hand resting hesitantly on his arm.

“Hello,” Ignis said stupidly, wincing inwardly at his loose tongue.

“Hi,” Prompto said, a smile spreading across his face. “We’re alone now.”

“Yes,” Ignis agreed, turning so that they were face to face. “I had noticed.”

Those lashes fluttered at him again, beautifully stark against Prompto’s pale features. “So… what…” his smile became a frown, “What should we…?”

Ignis knew what Prompto was trying to ask, evidenced by the pink flush creeping up his face. He slowly brought his hands up to brace against Prompto’s shoulders, squeezing lightly. “We take things slow,” he said. “For as long as we need to. We still don’t know each other very well, but I’ve come to… I care about you, Prompto.”

The admission came easier than he’d thought it would, and Prompto’s expression softened in such a way that Ignis thought he must be on the verge of tears. “I feel the same,” he said. “I want… I don’t know how this”—he gestured between the two of them—“works, but I want to stay here. With you. I mean, if you want me to?”

Ignis’ breath caught in his lungs for the barest second. “Yes,” he said, heavy on the exhale. “Yes. You can stay as long as you like.”

Prompto smiled at him then, a real smile, like the one he’d given Cindy the week before. Ignis felt weak for a moment, and might have chided himself for it if Prompto hadn’t pulled him down by his shirt collar to kiss him. He went willingly, of course, arms winding around Prompto’s back as their lips met. Prompto had the softest pink lips, and when his tongue darted out to swipe against the seam of Ignis’ mouth it was a pleasant surprise. They hadn’t kissed like this since that first night—Ignis hadn’t wanted to rush things, hadn’t wanted to push Prompto further than he was ready to go, so he’d been cautious.

Now he let Prompto lick into his mouth, and it was sloppy and overly enthusiastic and oh-so perfect.

“Wait,” he laughed, and Prompto paused, pulling back with a sheepish expression.

“Was that bad?” Prompto asked.

“No,” Ignis said quickly, and he cupped Prompto’s face, brushing his thumbs over that silky skin. “Just… you don’t need to put your _entire_ tongue in my mouth.” Prompto actually pouted at that, and Ignis leaned in to brush their lips together. “Here.” He could feel Prompto focusing as their tongues met—or he was trying to focus, to copy the motions, for about ten seconds. Then he melted into it, instinct or desire or something like that taking over. Prompto pushed up onto his toes, fingers buried in Ignis’ hair, and kissed him like he was starved for it.

They separated all at once several minutes later, both of them panting for air, and Ignis felt lightheaded. Had he remembered to breathe at all through that? He was dizzy with pleasure, lips swollen, heart thumping, body overly warm. Prompto was _not_ a passive, malleable kisser, and he’d completely stolen Ignis’ breath away once he’d gotten the hang of it. Ignis felt thoroughly ravished, and dimly recalled something about not wanting to subject the inexperienced Prompto to that sort of manhandling. _Well, I suppose I don’t mind being the manhandled one,_ he thought with a rush of giddiness.

Prompto was watching him, he realized. Quiet, eyes dilated, still breathing hard, and studying Ignis carefully, like he was trying to etch this moment into his memory.

“We ought to…” Ignis began, but he couldn’t think of a single thing they ought to be doing. There were chores, he knew, but he couldn’t bring any of them to mind at the moment. They couldn’t simply stand there kissing all day—could they? He licked his lips, and noted that Prompto tracked the movement intently with those liquid blue-violet eyes.

Wordlessly, Prompto took a sudden step back, and Ignis was momentarily bereft at the loss of his body heat. Then there was a hand curling around his fingers, and Prompto was pulling him down the path toward the house.

Inside, on the table, was the box of caps and the wrapped package Cindy had given Ignis as payment. Prompto let go of his hand just inside the door and stepped up to the table where he began unwrapping the package, revealing, in short order, a radio. He turned it this way and that and finally flipped a switch, and suddenly the room was filled with garbled static.

“Do you know what the stations are?” Prompto asked after a moment of turning the tuning knob unsuccessfully. Ignis realized he’d just been staring, and moved further into the room. The radio was set on the table, and Ignis quickly found the first station that came to mind. A tremulous male voice crackled over the speakers as the sound smoothed out, and then a slow, jazzy tune began to play.

Ignis had never bothered to have a radio before. Silence had always felt safer. He could listen to the world, listen for danger, and background noise made that impossible.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t like music, though. And the look on Prompto’s face, the way the tension left his body, made any reluctance Ignis harbored fade away.

“I asked Cindy if she had any radios, when we were talking the other day. You didn’t have one, so…” Prompto trailed off, plucking at the hem of his shirt.

“Is that why she was so insistent?” Ignis said. Then, “If I had known you liked music, I would have… Well, it’s a moot point, now.” He clasped his hands together. The room was too small for dancing, and he was terribly out of practice besides, but he also didn’t want to return to the mundane as of yet. So he pulled out a chair and settled himself on it, then held out his arms.

There was an awkward few seconds where Prompto took his hand, clearly unsure of what was expected of him, but when Ignis drew him down onto his lap, Prompto went willingly. He was stiff as Ignis wound arms around his waist, but he relaxed when he realized all that he needed to do was let Ignis hold him. Eventually he sighed and rested his head on Ignis’ shoulder, fists curled loosely against Ignis’ chest.

Ignis ached to think that Prompto had never had even this—it was one thing to never have been kissed, but to have never been given comfort, to have never been _held,_ that was tragic, and the thought made something cold curl up Ignis’ spine. Whoever had hurt Prompto, whoever had made him live such a cloistered and lonely life, Ignis hoped that they would get what they had earned for their cruelty. Though if what he suspected was true, he wasn’t sure that it would ever happen, or that he would be the one who would mete out that deserved justice.

_Just let him be safe, then,_ he thought as he smoothed a hand up and down Prompto’s side and music played quietly through the room. _Let him enjoy his freedom and never be afraid that it will be taken away._ Ignis wasn’t the praying sort, but he sent his plea up and hoped that there was some force in the universe that would hear it, and take heed.

 

**Chapter Five**

From that point on, there was almost always music playing in the background of their lives. Prompto didn’t know any of the songs at first, but within a week or two he was humming along under his breath. When he didn’t think Ignis could hear him, he would sing, and his untrained voice wavered occasionally, but was otherwise lovely and clear.

They fell into a routine. Ignis would have said that his life wasn’t terribly exciting, if anyone asked. Before Prompto, he would wake up, eat breakfast, do chores, eat lunch, check his supplies, eat dinner, read and go to bed. Sometimes he broke away from that by going hunting or going into town, but he thought he had been content.

Having Prompto there with him made everything seem… lighter. Waking up with someone in his arms, someone he cared about, made it worth getting out of bed. He often spent those first few minutes of wakefulness tracing Prompto’s sleeping features with his eyes—Ignis was invariably the first one awake—and carding his fingers through that flaxen hair. Then Prompto would wake up with a yawn and a stretch, and he would groan and curl into Ignis’ chest and try to fall back to sleep.

Something lit within Ignis’ heart on those mornings, watching Prompto sleep, knowing that Prompto had completely reversed his opinion of Ignis since they’d first met. For someone who had been scared to be in the same room with him only a few weeks prior to sleep so deeply right next to him now was quite the one-eighty.

Prompto’s insular little shell was slowly falling away, and Ignis was glad for it. Every day saw him grow bolder, either in the form of initiating affection with gentle touches or sweet kisses, or his newest and most favorite activity: asking questions. He asked Ignis about everything, shyly at first, and then with more confidence when his questions were readily answered.

“Ignis, which plants are edible? What are those ugly pink animals with the big teeth? What’s that weird glowing to the south?” And Ignis told him, showing Prompto in his journal the plants he’d catalogued, explaining what a mole rat was, and that the Glowing Sea was where the bomb fell during the war.

Prompto was fascinated by Ignis’ journal, and Ignis found himself reading passages from it at night once dinner was cleared away. He described treatments for illnesses and various uses of what few natural resources were left to create medicines, and explained the bits he’d transcribed from Pre-War medical books to the best of his ability.

Within a few nights he’d reached the end of the journal, but he’d grown fond of their nightly discussions. Once he realized that Ignis wasn’t going to chastise him for doing so, Prompto would always ask for clarification if he didn’t understand something. Mostly, he seemed to just enjoy listening, as though he was happy just for the companionship. Ignis could understand that perfectly—having someone to talk to, someone just to spend time with, made something ease within him.

There was a night that they were sitting outside on a low bench behind the house. It was cool enough for a fire, so Ignis had piled wood in the fire pit and he was reading aloud by the flickering light. Prompto’s head rested on his shoulder, and their arms were hooked together; Ignis felt like they were living out scenes from a storybook sometimes. He only wished the book he was reading was something mellower—a patient had left the book with him, and he hadn’t actually read it before. It was crudely published on pulpy paper, with a poorly hand drawn cover, which made it all the more surprising that the story was halfway decent.

“‘The super mutants were storming the gate,’” he read, “‘Hundreds of them, more than anyone had ever seen all in one place. If they got inside they would kill everyone and strip the meat from their bones. The walls would be adorned with sacks of blood and gore, and decapitated heads on spikes.’ This is a bit grizzly. Are you sure you want me to continue?”

Prompto rubbed his cheek against Ignis’ shoulder. “Yeah,” he said. “Just… can I ask a question?”

“Of course,” Ignis told him.

“What’s a super mutant?” Prompto asked. The term sounded unfamiliar to his tongue. “I heard you—and Cid—mention them, before. And they don’t sound very pleasant to be around.”

Ignis bent, nuzzling his nose into Prompto’s hair. “They’re not,” he murmured. “They’re monstrous. As big as deathclaws, but humanoid in stature with green skin. I’ve heard of some that are even bigger than that, called behemoths, but I hope I never see one. Regular super mutants are terrifying enough.”

“And they eat people?” Prompto said, sounding oddly fascinated as he tipped his face up to look at Ignis.

“So I’ve heard. I’ve only seen them from a distance. They can rip a human limb from limb, and they’ll eat anything. If you ever see a bag hanging from a wall or a tree or anything that’s full of bones and viscera, turn and run in the opposite direction.”

Prompto shuddered against him. “They sound disgusting,” he said, and he turned his gaze to the darkness beyond the campfire.

“They can talk, too. They aren’t terribly clever, but they possess a rudimentary intelligence. I’m sure if you ever hear one speaking you’ll know what it is you’re hearing.”

“Okay. I don’t want to hear the rest of the story now,” Prompto said, pensive now. “Can we go inside?”

Ignis chuckled, and pressed a kiss to his temple. “There haven’t been any of them spotted in this area for some time. But if you can get that terminal working, you can use it to keep the turret on all the time and program it to target super mutants.”

“It needs a new motherboard,” Prompto mumbled. He and Ignis rose in unison as Ignis closed the book and tucked it under his free arm.

The next day, Prompto muttered under his breath while he worked on fixing the terminal, and Ignis caught the word “outdated junk” on more than one occasion. He could fix complicated devices like that and would happily explain what he was doing if Ignis asked, but he had never seen a mutfruit or a tato before, and he was horrified sometimes by the lifeforms that the Wasteland had to offer.

The first time he saw a brahmin, Prompto had gotten sick, and he refused to eat brahmin meat or drink milk from the creatures from that point on. He could barely stand to look at the two-headed cows, and wouldn’t go near the beast that accompanied the trader that stopped to camp outside of Ignis’ house on occasion.

A few days after that, a ghoul came to Ignis’ door with an aching stomach. Prompto had gone paperwhite at the sight of him, and had to be told to go lie down in the back while Ignis doled out medication. Thankfully, the patient was too sick to care about Prompto’s reaction himself. Still, Ignis was troubled, and knew he couldn’t let the situation stand.

“Ghouls are humans that suffered radiation damage in such a way that they were mutated rather than killed by it,” Ignis explained once the ghoul had gone. Prompto had been sitting in the back with his knees pulled up to his chin and his voice had shaken as he asked what “that _thing_ ” was. “They are people, just like anyone else,” Ignis stressed, “Though there are some who treat them badly just for being ghouls.”

“Oh,” Prompto had said, looking both mollified and chagrined.

“There _are_ feral ghouls, though,” Ignis explained. He’d hesitated to do so, but Prompto needed to know the difference for his own safety. “They are ghouls whose minds have been deteriorated by radiation, and they _are_ dangerous. They can no longer think, and they will attack anything that moves. You can distinguish them from regular ghouls quite easily by their animalistic behavior.”

Prompto had been silent for a long moment, then he had gotten to his feet, and quietly declared that he was going to finish fixing the terminal.

Fear did nothing to diminish his curiosity, Ignis was glad to learn. The same ghoul returned a few days later with his human wife, and Prompto managed to work up the courage to shyly apologize for hiding from him. The ghoul seemed surprised, and dismissed the apology a bit awkwardly.

The wife was ill now, and Ignis questioned the pair about their water source as he brewed up something to treat her. They explained that they had just moved to a new farmstead and they had been using their water pump without inspecting the source; for all they knew, there was a dead body in their well water. Ignis chided them amicably, and offered them several bottles of purified water to take with them. They sheepishly promised to check their own water for contaminants when they returned home.

Then, to the surprise of everyone, Prompto began asking questions. He asked the ghoul where he was from—Detroit was the answer. He’d lived there before the war, working in a factory where automobiles were assembled. Enthralled, Prompto peppered him with questions about cars—how they were made, how they worked, why did they start using nuclear power instead of gasoline. Bewildered, the ghoul answered him, and Ignis watched as the conversation slowly became less one-sided. The ghoul—Jonathan—started waxing nostalgic, offering information without having to be asked. He was edging into life-story territory by the time Ignis finished preparing the treatment for his wife.

“That guy was over two-hundred years old, Ignis,” Prompto said once the couple had gone, as he and Ignis were clearing away his medical supplies. “Can you imagine that? He was alive before the war, when everything was green and the buildings weren’t all falling apart.”

Prompto looked wistful as he spoke, a sort of longing on his face that Ignis was familiar with. Anyone who saw pictures of the old world felt that pang of nostalgia for a world that no longer existed.

“You got on well with him,” Ignis said. “You’re good with people.”

Prompto blinked up at him in surprise. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Ignis smiled, put an arm around his shoulders. “As long as they’re not doctors, I mean.”

“ _Ignis_ ,” Prompto said, sounding distressed.

“I’m kidding, my dear,” Ignis said. “Though I am serious when I say you’re very personable. You got along with Cid, after all. Nobody gets along with that old man.”

“Oh,” Prompto said, a pink hue rising in his cheeks as he lowered his gaze. “I didn’t… I was… I thought I was being annoying, y’know? I ask too many questions sometimes, but I just like talking to people.”

“Prompto, you could never be annoying,” Ignis said. “You’re inquisitive and friendly, and you… disarm people, figuratively speaking. That’s a rare talent, these days.”

“Oh,” Prompto said again. Then he turned and wrapped both arms around Ignis’ middle. “Thank you.” His face was buried against Ignis’ chest, and his voice was muffled. Ignis returned the embrace, affection swelling in his chest.

“No need to thank me,” he murmured into Prompto’s hair. The solid weight of him in Ignis’ arms, the pulse of his heart, his warmth, the gentle expansion of his chest as he breathed—it was all so soothing, so grounding. Ignis knew that whatever qualities Prompto possessed that made people want to trust him hadn’t just worked on his patients. As resistant as Ignis had been at first, he knew now that he’d had no defenses that would have held Prompto at an arm’s length for very long.

“I am so glad you’re here,” Ignis said, and it was the truth. If it weren’t for Prompto, Ignis would still be here, alone, trudging through each interchangeable day in a fog.

A small shiver ran through Prompto’s body at the words, and his response was a whispered, “Me too.”

◊◊◊

One morning, Ignis woke to find the mattress beside him was empty. It wasn’t so unusual that he immediately panicked—nature might have called Prompto away, or it was possible he’d been unable to sleep.

The problem lay with Ignis in that particular situation. He’d become spoiled, he realized, having a warm body to curl up with every night and to wake up next to each morning.

After Cid had gone, Prompto had sheepishly asked if Ignis wanted him to go back to sleeping on the cot. Ignis had informed him that the cot was meant to be for patients, and it would need sanitizing before anyone else could sleep on it again. It would also be disruptive for both of them to have Prompto switching between beds every time a patient came to stay with them, so really, it was more convenient for everyone for the two of them to share Ignis’ bed. Ignis had also admitted that he enjoyed holding Prompto at night, which was what had made that beautiful smile unfold across Prompto’s face.

Without Prompto there next to him, Ignis quickly became too restless to fall back to sleep. He judged that it was just about the time he usually got up anyway, so he rolled up off the mattress and walked into the front room to wash.

The room was empty. Also not entirely unusual, if Prompto had had to go to the outhouse. Ignis had filled the kettle the previous night, so he set about lighting the stove. As he held a lit taper between his fingers, crouching before the stove, he thought he heard a voice speaking outside. The tone rose for a moment, distinctly Prompto’s, before quieting again.

He didn’t recall running for the door, but the next thing Ignis knew he was standing outside, breath coming in short gasps. Before him lay the path that led down to the road, and the expanse of dry earth and scraggly grass that grew in front of his house. He paused and listened, and could hear… whispering? Coming from the side of the house. Who could Prompto be talking to out there?

The sun was barely up, and the turret was chugging away on the stack of boxes Ignis had moved it to. It was on the wrong side of the house, though, positioned so that it could at least cover the front door. Ignis was planning to have a tower built for it to sit atop, so it could protect his entire plot of land. Moving it had been a compromise that enabled them to leave it running constantly, now that it was wired into Prompto’s terminal. _Should have left it on the roof and dealt with the noise,_ Ignis thought as he pressed himself up against the building.

Prompto was on the unprotected side of the house. Ignis listened for another moment, and heard the soft lilting of Prompto’s voice. He couldn’t make out words, but Prompto didn’t sound afraid, he sounded… Ignis had no idea what that tone of voice was. He couldn’t comprehend any of it in his current state of fear for Prompto’s safety.

Slowly, slowly, Ignis edged toward the corner of the house, and equally as slowly, tipped his head to peer into the gloaming that shrouded the world. He spotted Prompto immediately, kneeling on the ground, not visibly harmed, and felt some of the tension leave his body. Then his focus expanded, and he realized Prompto was not alone.

“God, Prompto, get away from that!” Ignis was moving again without having to think about it. Prompto started at the sound of his voice and half-turned, still on his knees, a guilty look plastered over his face.

“It’s okay!” he said, “It’s okay, she’s friendly!”

Ignis froze a few feet away and surveyed the scene as his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Prompto was on his knees in the dirt, and crouched in front of him was the ugliest dog Ignis had ever laid eyes on. Well, one of the ugliest. The mongrel hounds that roamed the Wasteland tended toward ugliness, all skin and bones, hairless from radiation or mange, and vicious from hunger.

And Prompto was _touching_ one of them. One of his hands rested on the creature’s neck as it cowered, lips raised in a silent snarl toward Ignis. Any second now it would attack, burying its fangs in Prompto’s skin. _Rabies,_ Ignis thought as his heartbeat kicked up. Mange he could treat, but the world’s oldest disease was a death sentence. _I should have taken my rifle,_ he thought, picturing the weapon where it sat perfectly useless in the corner of his sleeping room.

Prompto was speaking, and Ignis tore his gaze away from the dog to look at him. “...won’t hurt me,” he said. “I’ve been feeding her for the past few days. She’s nice.”

“You’ve… what?” Ignis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wracked his brain, trying to remember whether or not Prompto had been acting strangely lately. Had he been getting up early to use the outhouse and run into this stray beast?

“Today’s the first day she let me pet her,” Prompto said, and he was actually smiling now, hesitantly pleased. “She likes me, I think. She usually eats right out of my hand. Can I keep her?”

“What?” Ignis said again, reeling somewhat. Keep a wild mutt? Like a _pet?_ Prompto’s naivety and inexperience had never been cast in such a stark light as it was in that moment.

“Please, Ignis? You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of her, I promise.” Prompto sounded so like a pleading child, begging to keep some critter that had followed him home. Ignis stared, flabbergasted, as Prompto actually wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck and regarded Ignis with a hopeful expression. Even the dog had relaxed, no longer baring its teeth, sitting benignly without a hint of aggression while Prompto hugged it to him.

Ignis was powerless in that moment, utterly without recourse. Two pairs of wide eyes looked up at him, the definition of puppy-dog, and he realized he was nodding wordlessly. And Prompto beamed at him, looking teary eyed as he hugged his dog even closer.

“You need to bathe her,” Ignis heard himself saying, and his voice sounded strange in his ears. What exactly had just happened? He felt like he’d been duped somehow, but he couldn’t really be angry about it. “I have an astringent you can wash her with, to kill any mites.” He’d make Prompto wash himself with it too, and Ignis would probably use some of it on himself for good measure. Just looking at the dog made his skin crawl.

She had reddish skin with patchy fuzz, clearly sunburnt from exposure, and she was obviously malnourished. The fact that she was letting Prompto pet her and hold her told Ignis she might have been someone’s pet at some point, though.

“I’m gonna call you Chibi,” Prompto cooed at the dog, “It means tiny.” And she _was_ on the smaller side, but still capable of inflicting damage if she went wild. Ignis spared a second to wonder that Prompto might know other languages—Ignis knew a few key phrases that could help with diagnoses, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to dwell on that at the moment.

_Breakfast,_ he thought to himself. _I need to wash up and make breakfast._ He left Prompto with the dog as he went back inside and began to do just that. As he was putting food onto plates, Prompto came practically skipping through the door.

“Wash up with the liquid in that bottle,” Ignis said, pointing to the plastic canister on the counter. “Be thorough.”

“Okay,” Prompto chirped. He did as he was told as Ignis set the table, humming happily under his breath. Chagrined, Ignis knew he’d made the right decision in letting Prompto keep the dog. If it made the younger man this happy, then it couldn’t have been a mistake. _Unless the little beast bites one of us._

Unexpectedly, a pair of arms wrapped around Ignis from behind, and he felt Prompto pressing against his back. “Thank you,” Prompto said as he lightly squeezed Ignis’ ribcage. “I know a lot of those wild dogs are dangerous. She scared me too, at first, but she was more scared of me, y’know? But she’s really sweet.”

Smiling, Ignis patted one of Prompto’s arms. “I’m glad that you made a friend,” he said, “As long as you don’t go and try to tame every creature you come across.”

“I won’t. Though a pet deathclaw would be a way better security system than that rickety turret,” Prompto said.

Ignis arched his neck to look at Prompto over his shoulder, and saw that he was grinning. “You’d bloody well better be joking,” he said, and Prompto actually laughed, a short, joyous burst of sound that made Ignis’ heart skip a beat.

“If we raised it from a baby it probably wouldn’t try to eat us,” Prompto said, and there was something approaching cheekiness in his tone. “And I could ride around on its shoulders.”

“That would be something to see,” Ignis said dryly. Then he nodded toward the counter where an extra, smaller plate of food sat. “I made a bit extra for your dog. Why don’t you put the plate out for her and then come eat with me?” Again, Prompto smiled at him, big and brilliant, and unwound his arms from Ignis’ middle. He grabbed the plate and hurried outside, where Ignis could hear him enthusiastically greeting the dog.

Breakfast was a relatively silent affair, and Prompto kept darting glances toward the door, preoccupied and excited about his new pet. But when Ignis reached across the table and tangled their fingers together, Prompto reciprocated the gesture and offered him a warm look. There was  clear affection in his eyes; Ignis’ breath caught at the sight.

How quickly things had developed between them. In a way it was frightening, to care about someone as much as Ignis had come to care for Prompto in such a short time. There was still so much that they didn’t know about one another, but Ignis did know he didn’t want to be without Prompto. The young man had found a place in his heart that Ignis hadn’t even known existed.

After breakfast they filled a bucket with warm water and Ignis hovered a few feet away as he instructed Prompto while he washed the dog. She was surprisingly tolerant, and Ignis felt himself relaxing as she allowed herself to be scrubbed with soapy water. They would need to do this every day for a few days until her skin showed improvement, though Ignis doubted that her hair would grow back. Prompto didn’t seem to care about her appearance, and he gazed at her with a worrying abundance of adoration. _He looks at me the same way. I’m certainly not as hideous as a wrinkly dog._

“When her skin is better, can she sleep in bed with us?” Prompto asked, hopeful again.

“We’ll see,” Ignis said, which satisfied Prompto for the moment. Ignis didn’t know if he wanted a hairless dog sleeping in his bed, but he was sure he wouldn’t be able to say no if Prompto asked him again. “We can build a doghouse for her. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“You’re terrible at building stuff,” Prompto replied, pulling a face. He was hauling a fresh bucket of water to rinse the dog off. The ground around them was growing rather muddy, meaning Prompto would need to wash again when he was done.

Feigning offense, Ignis pressed a hand to his chest. “I beg your pardon. I’m a perfectly capable carpenter.”

“Say that to the generator shed. There’s holes big enough to fit your hand through between the boards.” He was right of course. If he wasn’t currently damp and filthy, Ignis would have grabbed him and kissed him thoroughly in admonishment. A fitting punishment for his teasing.

Prompto began pouring the clean water over the dog, rinsing away the layer of soap from her skin. She shook herself unexpectedly, and Prompto laughed as the water splattered against him, even as he twisted away to avoid the worst of it. The scene was so utterly perfect that it might have been taken from a picture book.

A lover and a dog, a home of their own—that was the sort of life people strove for in Pre-War times. Granted the dog wasn’t a mangy mongrel in the old pictures, but Ignis decided it was close enough.

 

**Chapter Six**

To his own amazement, Ignis realized that there were no more projects left that either himself or Prompto could work on themselves. They tried, unsuccessfully, to cobble a doghouse together out of scrap wood. Half an hour into the task Prompto wound up with a splinter the length of his pinky finger embedded in his hand somehow, and that was the end of that.

Ignis was pleased to see that the scratch from the deathclaw hadn’t left as deep and obvious a scar as he’d thought it would. The wound had healed nicely, though Prompto persisted in scratching at the healing flesh once the bandages had come off. Every time the offending hand would wander over to the raised, red wound, Ignis would snatch it away and hold it fast in his own hand and Prompto would pout up at him.

“It _itches,_ ” he whined.

“That means it’s healing, and you’ll make it worse if you pick at it,” Ignis explained calmly before pressing a kiss to Prompto’s knuckles. Gestures like that always distracted Prompto more easily than fussing or scolding, and he would forget about his discomfort for a short while.

Two months after the incident at the bunker, Ignis sat at the table as he worked on his medical journal. He’d been at it for only an hour or so, but his eyes were already aching. They had harvested everything from his garden that week, and he was running low on ingredients for concocting his medical supplies. There really hadn’t been much else to do but work long hours on completing his journal.

Well, today his mind just refused to focus on the task. He pulled off his spectacles and rubbed briefly at his eyes, then stood and stretched until his spine gave a satisfying pop. After replacing his glasses, he surveyed his shelf of medicinal supplies, and heaved a sigh. He was running low on nearly everything at this point. Well, he had been putting off a trip to town for months now, even before Prompto had come into his life. With nothing left to work on here, he really had no excuses left.

He found Prompto outside, lying supine in the thickest patch of grass he’d been able to find. The dog sat next to him, Prompto’s hand idly trailing up and down her back. Under Prompto’s attentive care, the animal was showing surprising signs of improvement. Her skin had cleared from a patchy, flaky red to a smooth pink, and in the past few days she’d begun to grow sparse fuzz over the less affected areas on her back and face. She’d also put on weight, filling out her wrinkly flesh and giving her less of a skeletal appearance. Ignis still thought she was as ugly as sin, but he didn’t dare say so to Prompto. Perhaps if her fur grew back she would be more appealing to look at. Time could only tell.

“Enjoying yourself?” Ignis asked as he approached the pair.

Prompto craned his neck, and offered Ignis an apologetic smile. “There’s not much else to do but lie around,” he said.

“I know,” Ignis sighed. He sat himself carefully on the ground beside Prompto, and reached over to comb a swath of blond hair back out of his eyes. Prompto was watching him, expectant. “I was thinking,” Ignis began, “that I need to go into town to resupply. We’ve some spare food to sell, and the bits of the deathclaw I managed to salvage. And I need to see about hiring a carpenter.”

Prompto sat up unexpectedly and swiveled onto his knees before Ignis. “I can come too, right?” he asked, breathless.

“Of course,” Ignis said. He was relieved, honestly. A part of him had feared that Prompto would be too shy of a larger population of people to want to accompany him into town. Ignis didn’t think he could have borne leaving Prompto behind, even for a day or two. He’d have done nothing but worry the entire time.

“Can we visit Cindy and Cid, too?” was Prompto’s next question.

“I’ll be stopping by to check up on Cid,” Ignis said, and Prompto made an excited squeaking noise and threw his arms around Ignis’ shoulders, effectively tackling him to the ground. “Goodness!” Ignis laughed, returning the embrace, “I don’t think anyone has ever been so excited to go visit Cid.”

“Cindy said I could help out around the scrap yard if I ever visited, remember? I really want to see their workshop,” Prompto said into Ignis’ neck, lying half on top of him as the dog sniffed curiously around their heads. “Plus, it’s boring here without anything to work on.”

“Well, pardon me for not keeping you sufficiently entertained,” Ignis said with a chuckle. He pressed a kiss to the side of Prompto’s head, then urged him up.

“So when are we leaving?” Prompto asked when they were on their feet, practically bouncing in place. “Can we go today?”

“We’ll need to pack provisions and secure the house, first,” Ignis said, and forestalled a disappointed groan by quickly adding, “Which shouldn’t take too long. We should be able to head out first thing tomorrow.”

As ready as he usually was to lend a hand, Prompto was twice as eager for the remainder of the day. He helped Ignis store their remaining supplies away and pick up everything that was lying around outside so it could be kept in the house while they were gone. All of the tools Prompto had commandeered for his projects were put away, and they both packed a bag to bring with them.

Ignis thought that he might have to buy his own brahmin soon to help move all the building supplies he’d need, as much as Prompto disliked the animals. Odd how he didn’t have the same disgusted reaction to his dog as he did to the two-headed cattle. At least brahmin were usually docile, and the domestic ones were clean and disease-free. Most of the time.

Later that night as they were lying curled together in the dark, Prompto was tense in Ignis’ arms, almost vibrating with excitement. “Sweetheart, you need to relax,” Ignis mumbled. “Get some sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” Prompto whispered. “I’ve never seen a big town before. Are there a lot of people there?”

“Yes,” Ignis said. “Though the town isn’t very big compared to Bunker Hill or Diamond City. There are maybe a hundred people living there? And there are always merchants in town. It’s all a bit cramped, the way they built everything inside of a wall.”

“Oh,” Prompto said, and he sounded somewhat letdown. Ignis couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but they were facing one another. He freed a hand from around Prompto’s waist and found his jaw, stroking his fingers along the smooth skin.

“One day I’ll take you to see Diamond City,” Ignis promised him. “And maybe even Goodneighbor. I think you’d get a kick out of it, as long as you don’t touch anything there.”

“Is Goodneighbor icky?” Prompto asked, and Ignis felt a smile tug at his lips.

“I’ve only been there once, and I stayed in their hotel overnight. There weren’t any locks on the doors and I couldn’t sleep. It was very… noisy,” Ignis said, and it was true; noise never ceased in Goodneighbor. There were people in the streets at all hours, but on that particular night Ignis had been most troubled by the people having very loud sex in the room above his. They were at it off and on for hours, and he’d been half-afraid that they would crash through the creaking ceiling and land on top of him.

The memory alone embarrassed him, and he decided not to share it with Prompto.

“It sounds exciting,” Prompto said, wistful. “Where I… grew up. There were a lot of people. Everyone knew everyone. But it was never exciting. Nothing good or interesting ever happened, and the people were so… cold.”

Ignis could only imagine, and he was intrigued by the story. His impression had been that Prompto had been isolated, and hadn’t imagined that there could be other people around him besides his abusers. The thought of Prompto living in a community that had completely ignored what was being done to him made Ignis’ ire slowly rise.

“That sounds lonely,” was all Ignis said. “I’m sorry that… I’m sorry for everything that was done to you.”

Prompto shrugged, and Ignis felt the motion shake them both. “It’s not your fault. And it’s over now. I don’t have to think about it anymore.” The flippancy of that statement was so obviously forced that it made Ignis’ heart ache. On impulse, he leaned in and kissed the first part of Prompto’s face that his lips found, just beneath his eye. The gesture made the other man snicker, and he shifted until he found Ignis’ mouth for a proper kiss.

It wasn’t what Ignis had intended, but he let Prompto kiss him, glad to have lightened the mood. Prompto was always an enthusiastic kisser, and as their mouths moved together he pressed himself against Ignis, one hand finding purchase on Ignis’ hip, the other fisting in his shirt. Ignis responded in kind, accepting Prompto’s tongue as it teased against his own, heart thumping as Prompto shifted and hiked a leg over Ignis’ so they fit together.

After a few minutes of this, with more than a little regret, Ignis eased back. He could hear Prompto panting, feel the warm gust of breath against his chin. The hand that had been on his hip had creeped upward at some point, and Prompto had slipped a thumb underneath the hem of his shirt. It was stroking back and forth against Ignis’ skin, sending delicious shivers of heat through his stomach.

“We should get some sleep,” Ignis murmured. “It’s a long walk tomorrow.” He pressed a final kiss to Prompto’s mouth, full of longing, and felt Prompto sigh through his nose. Ignis’ blood was stirred from the press of their bodies and the heat of their mouths, but he forced his mind away from such things. He wouldn’t push Prompto into something he wasn’t ready for. Though at some point he’d have to ask, have to make sure, that Prompto hadn’t been sheltered in that regard as well, or that he hadn’t ever been violated somehow. The last thing Ignis wanted was to traumatize his lover further.

“Goodnight Ignis,” Prompto said with another sigh.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

◊◊◊

The walk to town normally took about two hours, depending mostly on the weather and what sort of trouble Ignis did or didn’t run into on the way. Sometimes there were bloodbugs or bloatflies buzzing around a puddle of stagnant water or a dead animal, or he would encounter feral dogs. Raiders weren’t as common, since the town itself was well-guarded and sent out patrols after any rumors of raider activity.

With clear weather and a cool breeze, Ignis had thought the journey would go quickly that morning. He had underestimated Prompto’s curiosity, though, which in hindsight had been foolhardy of him.

First, they had to stop when a herd of radstag crossed the crumbled concrete road in front of them. Prompto had the same look on his face when he saw them as he wore whenever a brahmin was around. The dog growled at the deer, as though she sensed her master’s discomfort, but she stayed obediently at Prompto’s heel.

“Gross,” Prompto said. He was apparently unable to look away from their extra legs and heads as the animals took their time passing by the two humans and the dog. Ignis would have liked to have tried to bring one down, but Prompto hated watching him butcher their meals. Today was not the day to try and desensitize his squeamishness.

“Aren’t there any normal animals left?” Prompto asked him once they continued walking, side-by-side. “Like birds? I’d like to see some birds that aren’t all… fucked up looking.”

Ignis smiled. “There are dogs, of course,” he said. “And cats. Not all of them are infested with mange and radiation poisoning.”

“Can we get a cat?” Prompto asked immediately, brightening at the prospect.

“Perhaps,” Ignis said. He put an arm around Prompto’s shoulder and gave him a brief, affectionate squeeze—he loved thinking about things in terms of “we,” even for something so small. “If your dog can tolerate them.”

It took very little to please Prompto, and promising him a new pet put even more of a spring in his step. He was practically skipping as they walked, though he had to stop and inspect every new thing that they came across.

There was a bank of cylindrical, one-person fallout shelters at an old rest stop that Ignis had passed dozens of times and always ignored. Prompto pressed the button to open each one, so that all six played their tinny greeting almost in unison. Something about the noise, or the concept, fascinated and delighted him, though he deflated somewhat when Ignis explained that the things didn’t work the way they were meant to.

“Pulowski Preservation Chambers,” Ignis said. “I’ve come across more than one that housed little else besides the bones of the people who sought shelter in them.”

“So they were just installed in public to prevent people from panicking?” Prompto asked, which was more insightful a statement than most people would have formulated. “Or did that Pulowski guy really think they’d protect people from a nuclear explosion?”

Ignis had never considered the question himself. There were certain things in the Wasteland that everyone took at face value, things that were just part of the landscape that didn’t bear deeper consideration. Now he couldn’t help but wonder what it had been like, before the war, seeing these shelters and having peace of mind that if a bomb fell one could simply duck inside and wait out the worst of the explosion. But there were hardly enough of these shelters for everyone to have been able to hide in one.

False hope was perhaps better than no hope at all, he supposed.

“I’d say it’s the former, considering the automated voice mispronounces ‘nuclear,’” was all Ignis said.

An Old-World diner presented another distraction, though Ignis made sure to clear the building before he allowed Prompto to go inside. Raiders were notorious for leaving traps out in such places, bombs that would kill unsuspecting or unwary travelers, leaving their corpses ripe for looting.

There was a bundle of paper money moldering in a cash register. Paint and wood paneling peeled off of every surface, and the tiles on the floor were cracked and covered in two centuries worth of grime. Many of the windows were broken as well, and the place had been stripped for supplies ages ago. Prompto sat in one of the booths, on the cracking leather with orange stuffing peeking out through busted seams. His gaze was distant, like he was imagining how the diner might have looked when it was new.

“It’s all broken,” he murmured. “I keep hoping I’ll find something that…” He frowned, and after a long moment stood up from the booth. Ignis put a hand on his back, understanding. There was nothing new and pristine in the world anymore, and there probably wouldn’t be again for a very long time. Dwelling on a past that most people couldn’t even imagine wouldn’t help things, though.

“Come on,” Ignis said softly, “We’re nearly there.”

The distractions were fewer as they moved on—just an old billboard frame and a few rusted out cars that were too volatile to pick over for scrap. Finally, they crested a hill and saw the glittering mound of scrap that was Cid and Cindy’s home business, less than a mile off. Prompto’s steps became impatient then, and Ignis allowed him to set the pace. The dog, sensing her master’s excitement, began to frolic in circles around them making chuffing noises. It would have been cute if she weren’t wrinkly and pink like a hand that had been soaked too long in hot water.

“Wow,” Prompto said as they neared the scrap yard. Up close, it wasn’t quite so pretty. A tall fence surrounded the property, itself made of scrap materials and topped by barbed wire. The front gate was open, though, guarded by rattling turrets. “What a bunch of junk,” Prompto whispered in awe as Ignis guided him inside.

“Are you impressed or disgusted?” Ignis asked with a smile.

Prompto gave the question a moment of consideration. “Both,” he decided. “It’s like the Wasteland threw up in here.”

That got a laugh out of Ignis, which attracted the attention of two curious guard dogs. When they weren’t on guard the animals were friendly enough, though they circled Chibi warily for a moment before dismissing her. She was about half their size and wagged her tail as they inspected her, mouth lolling open, oblivious to any danger. Well, she would never make a good guard dog herself, then. _Figures_.

Cindy was in front of the actual shop at the epicenter of the heaps of scrap that made up her grandfather’s property. It was thanks to her that everything had a semblance of order, Ignis suspected. There were clear paths through the junk, and everything was inspected for potential explosive elements before it was assigned to a heap. Smaller parts were kept in containers while actual metal scrap was piled high.

“Oh, hey!” Cindy called out when she looked up and spotted them. She was bent over a worktable, wearing a metal mask with a hood to protect her hair and face from flying sparks. She set aside the blowtorch she was holding and stripped off a pair of large gloves, then pulled off the mask. Underneath, her curls were flattened and she was sweating, but she lacked any hint of self-consciousness when she walked up and greeted Prompto with a hug. Ignis wasn’t sure whether himself or Prompto was more surprised by the gesture.

“Good morning, Cindy,” he said cordially as she pulled away from a bright red Prompto.

“Don’t be such a stiff, Doc,” she snorted, and then it was his turn to be embraced. And indeed, the unexpected physical contact made him stiffen, but she stepped back before he could become truly uncomfortable. Ignis was sometimes hugged by grateful patients, or he might lend a shoulder to cry on, but he was rarely shown affection in such a friendly manner. Prompto was the only person he’d allowed to get that close in ages, but he felt unexpectedly warmed by Cindy’s greeting.

“How is your grandfather?” he asked, shuffling slightly in place.

Cindy rolled her eyes. “Alive,” she said, “In spite of his efforts to work himself to death. I made him take all your medicine but I have to bully him into resting. He got tired of me and went off into town today to do house calls.”

“Convenient. Perhaps I’ll run into him,” Ignis said. “I’m going to be in town to do some trading but I’m sure I’ll get called upon once word gets out that I’m here.”

“Everyone loves ya, Doc,” Cindy said with a smirk.

“I don’t know about that,” he said with an answering wry grin. “They certainly love to talk my ear off, though.”

Cindy made a scoffing noise, and gave his shoulder a light slap. “Don’t be silly. You’re _our_ Doc.” Ignis blinked in surprise, but she had already turned back to Prompto. “You gonna stick around, Freckles? I’d love a helping hand for the day.”

Prompto was still blushing and shyly staring at the ground, but he looked up, first at her, then at Ignis. “Is that okay?” he asked, blinking widely.

“You don’t need my permission, my dear,” Ignis said. “If you’d like to work with Cindy today, then I suppose I’ll be fine on my own.” He softened his smile at the end and made his tone lighten so Prompto wouldn’t feel like he was being guilt tripped. If they stayed in town overnight, which seemed likely, Ignis could always give him the grand tour tomorrow.

Prompto brightened at that, and stood up straight. He had shrunk in on himself after Cindy had hugged him, but he was relaxing now. Hopefully he wasn’t too nervous about being left with a virtual stranger for the day.

Cindy clapped her hands together, and bounced on her heels. “Great! Well, let’s get you geared up! Lots of sharp edges around here, y’know.”

“Oh, ok,” Prompto said, tension returning to his body all at once. Then to Ignis, “Uh, I’ll see you later on?”

The abruptness of their separation was giving him second thoughts, Ignis could see. To forestall a change of mind, Ignis stepped in close and leaned down for a brief kiss goodbye. While Prompto’s shyness was endearing, Ignis knew it would be cruel to let the younger man get so attached to him that he couldn’t function on his own around other people; he needed to socialize without using Ignis as a crutch. Cindy was an ideal person for Prompto to befriend, pleasant and easy-going as she was.

“Yes,” Ignis said, “I’ll come collect you this evening.” Which wasn’t too far away, seeing as how it was nearly noon already. Prompto looked a bit dubious, but then Cindy put a hand on his arm and began gently pulling him toward the shop. She shot Ignis a wink as Prompto reluctantly let himself be dragged away.

In spite of his own logic, Ignis felt a twinge in his chest as Prompto disappeared indoors, out of sight.

 

**Chapter Seven**

Predictably, Ignis had barely been in town for an hour before he heard someone calling out “Doc! Doc!” He had managed to sell off his wares by then, and was perusing a stock of old books with cracking spines and yellowed pages. Prompto was so fascinated by the Old World, and Ignis was hoping to find something for him with decent photographs. Maybe an encyclopedia, so he’d have the knowledge to go along with the images.

The market was an out of doors affair, arranged in a wide rectangle. It was just Ignis’ luck that he’d arrived on a caravan day, so there were twice the number of people about than was usual. Now he was doubly glad that Prompto was with Cindy, because frankly even Ignis was perturbed by the press of bodies around him.

At the sound of someone calling out for him, he suppressed a sigh. He still hadn’t located a carpenter, but perhaps he could ask his patient, provided they weren’t on death’s door.

A young girl appeared at his elbow and began bouncing in place. “Doc, mama sent me to get you! My sister’s sick!”

“Well, lead the way,” he told her. He was stopped again before he reached the first home, and the child danced nervously around him as an older gentleman informed Ignis of his husband’s broken ankle. Ignis promised he’d stop by after seeing to his first patient, and the old man clasped his hand and thanked him.

The sick child turned out to have a case of colic. Ignis could find nothing else wrong with her, and she cried throughout his examination. Her mother was clearly stressed out and exhausted, and wasn’t receiving much help from her “no good husband.” All Ignis could do was tell her to swaddle the baby and keep her calm, and let her soak in a warm bath. Colic usually went away within a few months, once the baby’s digestive system was more fully developed, and the child was almost three months old already. The mother looked relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious, and thanked him profusely.

Next was the older gentleman with a broken ankle, who was laid up in bed looking pitiful. Ignis only had to look at the ankle to determine that it wasn’t broken—he simply had a bad case of inflammatory arthritis. Ignis told the husband that consuming ginger and turmeric could help, if he could get his hands on them, as would a balm or salve made with comfrey. All were rare ingredients and likely mutated from radiation, but there was little else that could be done aside from walking with a crutch.

When he was done with that patient, he had about five minutes to breathe before someone tapped on his shoulder and a meek little woman asked him if he could recommend a good method of birth control. Much of his day progressed in a similar vein, time passing in a whirlwind. Some of the people he spoke with were simply hypochondriacs, but there were plenty of real maladies going around and his medical satchel was beginning to get light by the end of the day.

He did wind up giving himself a break in order to stop and buy more supplies, and he was surprised by how understanding people were when they approached him and he explained that he’d need a bit of time before he could help them. _You’re_ our _Doc,_ Cindy had said. He had never considered it before, that his patients felt that sort of connection to him. Had he been doing them a disservice, thinking of them in too clinical a sense?

Toward mid afternoon, he offhandedly mentioned to one patient, a grandmotherly woman, that he hadn’t eaten lunch yet and she forced him to sit and eat after he treated an ugly cut on her husband’s forehead. Other people pressed food on him as well, most of which he carefully packed away in his bag for later. Some gave him things, old trinkets they’d found like non-functioning pocket watches and oxidized coins from the Old World. Not everyone could pay him in actual caps, and they knew from his reputation that he wouldn’t keep track of their debts if they promised to pay him back eventually. Ignis could sell the baubles they gave him, and the food they offered saved him from buying meals.

Toward the end of the day, he saw a man who had somehow found himself with a nail embedded in the palm of his hand. It had gone clean through the back of his hand, and he looked sheepish as he explained that he’d been toying with a nail gun Old Man Cid had fixed up for his father.

“Is your father a carpenter, perchance?” Ignis asked as he inspected the inflamed wound. It would be easy enough to pull the nail out, but the man would be at risk for tetanus. Some things Ignis couldn’t do anything about, though there might be doctors in Diamond City with better equipment.

“Yes, sir,” the man, Andrew, said. “He said I should just leave the nail in there to teach me a lesson.”

“I think it’s safe to say the lesson has been learned,” Ignis drawled. “Nail guns aren’t toys.”

“Yes, sir,” Andrew repeated.

Ignis removed the nail and cleaned and bandaged the wound. The patient wouldn’t be able to use his hand for about a week, but that would drive the lesson home and urge him to be more careful in the future.

“Your father,” Ignis said when he was finished, “Could you tell him that I’m looking for a carpenter?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Andrew said, perking up. “Yeah, he can build anything! You gonna be in town tomorrow? Why don’t you come by in the morning?”

They arranged a time to meet and discuss what sort of work Ignis needed to have done. He hoped he wasn’t imposing, but Andrew assured Ignis that his father would be thrilled to work with “the Doc.”

_Thrilled_ , Ignis thought. It seemed like an exaggeration, and that was what he usually presumed when people treated him enthusiastically. When they gifted him with food it was just a form of payment, and when they thanked him it was only because it was expected of them. But he’d been wrong about all of that.

It was an odd sensation, realizing that these people saw him as someone important.

As the light began to fail and Ignis headed back toward the scrapyard, he finally ran into Cid.

“Oh. You’re here, huh?” Cid said by way of greeting as they passed through the town gates.

“So it seems,” Ignis replied, “I trust you’re feeling well?”

“Fine,” Cid grunted. Ignis suppressed a grin, and they largely walked in silence until they reached the scrap yard.

The dogs greeted Cid with excitement, though he grumbled and waved them away. Ignis suspected that had he not been there, Cid would have happily petted the animals and made a fuss over them.

Most of the yard was cast in shadow as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky, and Ignis could see that the lights were on inside of the shop. As they drew closer he heard voices filtering through the open garage door, and as he stepped into the opening something flashed in his eyes, temporarily blinding him.

“Oops,” Prompto’s voice said as Cindy let out a whooping laugh.

“Sorry Iggy, Prom’s just trying out his new camera,” Cindy explained through her mirth. A hand found Ignis’ shoulder and guided him inside.

“Sorry, Ignis,” Prompto echoed, “I didn’t realize it would be that bright.”

“That’s quite all right,” Ignis said, squinting and blinking as the brightness faded from  his vision. White spots danced before his eyes as he looked down at a chagrined Prompto. In his hand was an old camera, in surprisingly good condition. “Is there film in that?”

“Yeah!” Prompto said, his embarrassment dropping away as his eyes glittered, “Cindy has a whole bunch. She said I could have it as payment for helping out today. And the camera, of course.” Prompto clutched the device to his chest, his face flushed and overjoyed.

“Do you know how to develop film?” Ignis asked. Film was a rarity these days, but Cindy and Cid collected so much junk from traders that it wasn’t a stretch to think they’d have a decent stockpile.

“I can figure it out,” Prompto said with a shrug.

“I’m sure you can,” Ignis said, putting an arm around him and pulling him in close. He lowered his voice as he added, “You are brilliant, after all.”

Prompto squirmed against him, but didn’t break eye contact. “Are you teasing me?” A tiny smile was curving his lips upward, and his freckles were standing out perfectly against his blush.

“Not at all, dearest,” Ignis assured him.

“If you two are gonna get all sugary, can you do it outside?” Cid growled at them. His words were followed by a soft smacking sound, and a whispered, “Be nice!” from Cindy. Ignis felt his own face burn at the same time that Prompto’s pallor deepened to the brightest red Ignis had ever seen.

“Perhaps we _should_ go,” Ignis said as Prompto ducked his head and began very deliberately fiddling with his camera. Night was covering the world, and Ignis wanted to be back in town while there were still plenty of people about.

Their departure was prolonged by Cindy, who had to hug them each goodbye and thank Prompto profusely for his help that day. Prompto was obviously taken with her, and Ignis didn’t have the heart to feel any jealousy over their budding friendship, not even when Prompto gave her one of his brilliant smiles. After the life Prompto had had, he deserved all the kindnesses the world had to offer, and Cindy—and Cid, in his own way—were kind and good people.

As they walked back to town, Prompto filled Ignis in on his day. He and Cindy had repaired several motors, and he’d even taught Cindy how to repair the delicate connections on an old circuit board. Cindy had given him some tips on dog training and they had figured out that Chibi knew a few minor commands. The little naked dog jogged alongside them as they walked, and stuck dutifully by Prompto’s side as they walked through the town gates.

Prompto stared, eyes round as saucers, at all of the people in the market. Ignis offered his arm, and Prompto gratefully held onto him, but he seemed equally intrigued and intimidated.

“We’ll be staying at the inn tonight,” Ignis told him as they wound their way through the crowd. “Do you want to head there now, or look around some more?”

“I…” Prompto considered the question as he kept a close eye on Chibi, who had stopped to smell the corner of a building. “I’m kinda tired. We can look around tomorrow, right?”

“Certainly,” Ignis said. “I’m feeling a bit knackered myself.”

The inn was a solidly built wooden structure, two stories tall and managed by a sleepy ghoul woman. She took their caps and gave them a key as she rasped, “Room five, second floor.”

“It’s nicer here than I thought it would be,” Prompto whispered to him as they climbed the stairs.

“What were you expecting?” Ignis asked.

“Uh,” Prompto glanced over his shoulder as they reached the landing, and lowered his voice further, “I thought there’d be, like, falling apart buildings, and mean looking people with guns and knives.”

They reached their room, and Ignis slipped an arm around Prompto’s waist as he unlocked the door. “Well, luckily this is a fairly civilized settlement. What you’re describing is your typical raider den.”

“Really, because that’s what—”

Ignis pushed the door open and drew Prompto into the room, along with Chibi, who was hot on their heels. “That’s what?” Ignis prompted, shutting the door and unslinging his pack from his shoulder.

“That’s… that’s what the people who… raised me said it was like in the Wasteland. They said all the people were violent and primitive,” Prompto admitted. As Ignis watched, Prompto looked around the small room, then went over to the double bed and tested the mattress with his hands. “I’m glad they were wrong, though.”

“And I’m glad you left them,” Ignis said. He moved up behind Prompto and smoothed a hand up his back. Whoever these people were that Prompto had escaped from had tormented and attempted to brainwash him, and Prompto had still left them in spite of their fear-mongering.

“Me too,” Prompto said, standing back upright. “I was scared to—I was terrified, but I had to take the chance that they were lying to me, y’know? And then I found you, and… and I knew I was right to try and get away.”

“It was very brave of you,” Ignis said. He drew Prompto against him, and Prompto came to him willingly, wrapping his arms tight around Ignis’ chest.

For a minute, they just stood like that. Prompto tucked his head under Ignis’ chin, and Ignis threaded his fingers through silky blond locks. Then a wet snuffling sound reached their ears, and Ignis looked around to see Chibi trying to stick her entire head in his bag.

Prompto giggled as she made off with mouthful of brahmin jerky, and Ignis salvaged the rest of the food he’d been gifted with that day. The two of them sat on the bed as they ate, and Prompto listened raptly as Ignis described his day. _Brave, and gorgeous, and brilliant,_ Ignis thought as those violet-blue eyes watched him, affection gleaming from their depths.

◊◊◊

The mattress was lumpier than Ignis would have liked, but it was covered in a clean—if scratchy—sheet. With the dog curled up in the corner, lying on Prompto’s discarded coat, Ignis and Prompto had the bed to themselves, lying face to face. Prompto’s mouth was warm against his, his tongue strangely sweet. Cindy had apparently shared some homemade candy with him that day, which lead to Prompto’s discovery that he possessed a sweet tooth.

A low moan rumbled up Prompto’s throat as his fingers curled in the lapels of Ignis’ shirt, trying to pull him closer. Ignis had a hand on Prompto’s hip, stroking his thumb against the bare skin just above Prompto’s waistband. He wanted to plunge his hand under the thin fabric of Prompto’s loose shirt, to explore every inch of his skin and leave him gasping—but Ignis restrained himself. Even with Prompto’s tongue rolling against his own, he tried his best to be mindful of Prompto’s inexperience.

Really, they ought to stop; he knew the walls in this building weren’t especially thick, but as he tried to pull back, Prompto moved with him, shifting ever closer. “Darling,” Ignis murmured against his lips, and gasped when Prompto shifted to kiss his jaw. He was so very clever with his mouth, and Ignis found himself arching his neck to encourage Prompto to kiss lower, to drag his lips against Ignis’ throat.

Thankfully, Prompto did just that. His lips fluttered along the sensitive cords beneath Ignis’ skin—he still showed signs of hesitance, focusing too hard as he tried to pay attention both to what he was doing, and to Ignis’ reactions. One of his hands released Ignis’ lapel, stroked down his chest, and began tugging at the hem of his shirt. Ignis wasn’t ticklish, but Prompto’s touch made shivers race across his flesh. And he could feel his body responding, his restraint slipping as desire took its place.

When he tried to pull back again, Prompto actually growled—it was a noise of frustration unlike any sound Ignis had heard him make before. Then, in a flurry of movement, Prompto sat up and swung a leg over Ignis’ middle, straddling him.

In spite of himself, Ignis was both aroused and amused by this unexpected boldness. “What’s this?” he said. He settled his hands low on Prompto’s thighs, close to his knees, and watched the heat creep up the blond’s face. As decisive as the action had been that got him there, perched above Ignis and sitting squarely on his hips, he now looked unsure of himself.

“I just–” he began, paused, and licked his lips. “You always stop, when we– when we’re– But I don’t want to stop. I want to…” He trailed off, smoothing his hands up and down Ignis’ chest as his gaze dropped.

“Do you know what to do?” Ignis asked, hoping desperately that he wasn’t about to have to give his own boyfriend the sex talk.

“Yes!” Prompto said, eyes snapping up to Ignis’. The crimson hue of his complexion deepened. “I… read about it,” he admitted haltingly.

“Oh? So you’re an expert then, I take it?”

Prompto scowled down at him. “You know what? You’re _mean._ ” He said it with a distinct pout in his voice that made Ignis chuckle.

“Forgive me, my dear,” he said, and his ran his hands slowly up the insides of Prompto’s clothed thighs. Watching him shudder with need was quite the treat. With a grunt, Ignis sat up and cupped the back of Prompto’s neck with one hand, using the other to brace himself against the bed. He leaned in close and gently brushed his lips against Prompto’s forehead, smoothing the frown lines until his scowl fell away. “Would you like me to take the lead?” he asked.

Prompto met his gaze, searching and considering, and then he gave a single nod. “Yeah. I’d probably mess it up somehow.”

“Not possible,” Ignis assured him, following the assurance with a short, sharp kiss. Then Prompto and the bed both squeaked as Ignis quickly and carefully flipped him into his back.

“Oof!” Prompto gasped, but he grinned expectantly up at Ignis. “How about some warning next time?”

“What fun would that be?” Ignis asked with a smirk. Then he let his eyes rove down as he sat back on his heels. Prompto was utterly beautiful, from his eyes to his freckles, his golden hair and flawless skin, and all of his sweet smiles and his brave, kind heart. “I should warn you,” Ignis murmured, “it has been a while since I’ve done this.”

Prompto gave a tense little shrug. “Not like I’ll know the difference.”

“All the same,” Ignis said, and he hooked his fingers under the hem of Prompto’s shirt, “You deserve my best effort.” He urged Prompto to sit up just long enough to divest him of his shirt, and then sat back again for a moment to appreciate the view. He had seen Prompto without a shirt before, while he washed, and Ignis always did his best not to stare. There were too few gentlemen left in the world, and Ignis did try to comport himself as one, averting his gaze when he wasn’t certain that his attention was wanted.

_Perhaps I was being too much of a prude,_ he mused. Prompto had filled in quite well since his days as a malnourished stranger stealing from gardens. He looked healthy. Vital. And he was here, now, staring at Ignis with nervous expectation, his eyes warm and inviting.

“You’re perfect,” Ignis told him, breathing the words out in something like reverence.

Prompto squirmed beneath him, folding his arms over his chest. “Don’t say that,” he whispered, glancing away, looking upset by the words.

“But it’s true,” Ignis said. He bent low and kissed Prompto’s cheek. “You’re lovely.” He captured Prompto’s lips in a lingering kiss. It took a moment before Prompto responded, and then he was burying his fingers in Ignis’ hair.

“Please,” he rasped when Ignis pulled away and began kissing down his chin, down his neck. Did he know what he was asking for? Ignis doubted that educational materials on sex went into any sort of detail beyond the basics, and Prompto deserved more than what some dusty textbook described. They didn’t have any lubricating solutions that weren’t medicated, either, so Ignis would just have to make do.

Ignis spared a glance for the corner where Prompto’s dog was lying on her back, snoring and oblivious. Good. It would have been awkward to have her...staring at them. Or trying to jump on the bed. And Ignis didn’t think Prompto would like it if the dog wound up getting tied out in the hallway.

He turned his attention back to Prompto, focusing his mouth on a sensitive spot that he found just below the hinge of Prompto’s jaw. The hands in his hair tightened their grip as he lightly grazed his teeth over the swath of skin, and Prompto whimpered-–then he bucked his hips up, and Ignis felt a groan rumble deep in his chest. He tried to take a moment to school himself, lips pressed to the reddened flesh of Prompto’s neck, but Prompto had other plans. Again, he arched his hips up, and with Ignis between his legs there was just enough friction there to tease them both.

Ignis pushed up on one hand, and curled the other around the jut of Prompto’s hipbone where it rode up out of his worn jeans. Prompto’s hands slid down from his hair to rest on his shoulders, and his chest heaved, his eyes darkened to a deep blue.

“Why’d you stop?” he asked.

Ignis shook his head, moving his hand up Prompto’s bare side and watching as the muscles jumped underneath his touch, and didn’t stop until he was caressing Prompto’s jaw. “Apologies, dear heart. You simply overwhelm me,” Ignis breathed. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in every inch of his body, and most insistently between his legs. Why did they make trousers so bloody restrictive in the Old World?

Damn it, he’d wanted to take this slowly, to savor Prompto and give him something he’d always remember. Ignis had always had commendable self-control, but he trembled now with want, his heart thrumming in his chest with a burning light that he couldn’t describe. He was kissing Prompto again without realizing he’d moved, kissing him with a fervor Ignis had never experienced before.

Why on Earth had he held back for so long? Why hadn’t he asked Prompto what _he_ wanted instead of assuming? Now they were both fit to burst–Prompto’s grip on his shoulders was bruising, holding Ignis close until he reared back and began unbuttoning his own shirt. Then Prompto’s fingers were there as well, working up from the bottom while Ignis fumbled with the buttons at the top. Between the two of them they managed, and Ignis peeled his shirt down his arms and flung it to the side. Prompto’s hands were already on him, shaking as they roamed his chest and stomach.

_God, you are so wonderful, absolutely breathtaking._ And judging by how red Prompto was, Ignis knew he must be speaking those things out loud, but he was losing all of his usual good sense. Babbling under his breath as he mouthed at Prompto’s collarbone and began kissing his way down a rapidly heaving chest. He paused only briefly to lave his tongue over a hard, pink nipple, and Prompto made an interesting whining noise at the sensation. Ignis was tempted to stay there a bit longer, but he knew there were other noises he could wring out from the man beneath him.

His kisses became shorter, softer as he reached the dip between Prompto’s hips. There was a very obvious bulge in the front of his jeans that Ignis brushed his fingers against. Prompto gasped and wriggled, but Ignis held onto him as he traced his tongue above the waistband of those jeans. Salty sweat was rising already on Prompto’s skin, which Ignis took as a good sign.

“Ignis,” Prompto groaned, dragging the name out to about five times its usual length. His hands were fisting now in the rough bedsheets, and he was watching Ignis with hot eyes, so dark blue they were nearly black.

“Don’t worry darling,” Ignis soothed, squeezing a taut thigh as he knelt between Prompto’s legs. “I’ll take care of you.” His own voice sounded low and sultry in his ears, and he admired the effect it had on Prompto as his gaze became something demanding and needful. Slowly, Ignis trailed his hands up Prompto’s thighs and converged at the button that clasped his jeans shut. Those dark eyes tracked the movement, wanting. Prompto’s body shivered involuntarily as Ignis unfastened the button, slid the zipper free and then began working the fabric down over his hips.

Soon enough, the jeans joined Ignis’ shirt on the floor, and he could see the clear outline of Prompto’s length throbbing inside of his underwear. Entranced, Ignis could only watch for a moment; he didn’t think he’d ever had this strong of an effect on anyone before, and it was almost too much to realize how badly Prompto wanted him, how much Prompto trusted him. _Him._ Ignis hadn’t… he didn’t… God, he didn’t understand why his chest felt so tight in that moment, why he was nearly blinking back tears. They were having sex, for goodness’ sake, or trying to. He never got this emotional during sex, but… perhaps it was all right, with Prompto.

He heard his name being whispered, and refused to look up, to meet Prompto’s gaze, to ruin the moment. Instead, he hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of Prompto’s boxers and tugged them down, revealing a deeply pink cock. It was curled upwards, the head resting against Prompto’s lower belly and already dripping.

“I want to touch you,” Ignis murmured, and he risked a glance up. “May I?”

Prompto looked at him in a daze, throat working, and he nodded slowly, dreamily. Ignis carefully traced his index finger down the angle of Prompto’s hip and watched the gooseflesh raise. The pink cock visibly twitched, and Ignis gingerly took Prompto in hand. The light touch elicited a sharp gasp, though for a moment Ignis only held the pulsing flesh, marveling at how well Prompto’s cock fit in his hand, how burning hot and velvety his skin was.

This probably wasn’t going to last long, if Prompto had never been touched before. Even if he had touched himself, it wasn’t quite the same. But Ignis was going to do what he could to make it last.

Ever so slightly, he increased the pressure of his grip, and Prompto whimpered. Ignis focused on Prompto’s face as he slowly, slowly began to move his hand, and Prompto’s eyes slid shut, his flush spreading from his face and down his chest and shoulders. His fingers clenched and unclenched in the bedspread as Ignis dragged his fist up, and then down in steady, easy pumps.

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Prompto moaned. His voice was loud. Too loud. Anyone in the adjacent rooms would be able to hear him, but Ignis realized then that he didn’t care. Let them hear. Prompto could make as much bloody noise as he liked. He deserved to _howl_ if he wanted to.

With his free hand, Ignis held Prompto’s hip to keep him from thrusting upward and finishing too soon. Ignis’ movements were measured, keyed to the fluttering of Prompto’s eyelids, the twitches in his lower belly and the lovely noises he made. But he wanted more. He wanted to taste Prompto, and so he did–he ducked his head and pressed his mouth to the base of Prompto’s cock and heard him squeak. There was a hot, musky smell to him, masculine and dizzying. Ignis sucked at the looser skin there, and moved his free hand to Prompto’s sac—his balls were tight against his body, drawn up and ready to release.

No, he certainly wasn’t going to last. Ignis was struggling as well; his cock was throbbing painfully where it was pinned inside his own trousers. He needed to relieve the pressure, but he couldn’t stop what he was doing. With a groan of his own, he lifted up just enough to get a look at Prompto’s face. He had enough awareness to be amused by the fact that Prompto had covered his face with his hands, and was moaning almost continuously behind them. Adorable.

Well, if neither of them could contain themselves, then Ignis might as well go for it, pull out all the stops. He dragged his tongue over the head of Prompto’s cock and heard the pitch of his moans increase. Then, without preamble, he took Prompto into his mouth and began to suck. And he’d been right–Prompto _did_ howl, a long strangled noise, and Ignis had only bobbed his head a few times before he felt the cock pulse in his mouth. Ignis had a split second to decide what he wanted to do, and then he was pulling off and stroking Prompto rapidly, watching an abundance of come streak across Prompto’s stomach.

Some part of Ignis was impressed, though he was sure most of it had to do with Prompto’s virginity and less to do with Ignis’ skill. Now he was moving purely on instinct, tugging his own pants low on his hips and finally freeing his cock. Hissing, he took himself in hand and braced himself above Prompto, full of admiration and lust and love and– Prompto was watching him, his eyes open in bright blue slits. He was breathing hard, and he looked utterly delirious and utterly enamored with Ignis.

Ignis worked his hand over himself, gasping and making more noise than he was normally prone to. His stomach was already tight, the pleasure coiled there ready to snap and spill over. In the end, all it took was Prompto reaching down and closing his hand over Ignis’—the barest touch and Ignis shouted, spilling over him, making even more of a mess. Ignis barely managed to catch himself as all strength fled his limbs, and he flopped over to the side rather than collapsing on top of Prompto.

“I told you,” Ignis muttered, voice hoarse as a creeping heaviness overtook his body. “Perfect.”

 

**Chapter Eight**

Browsing the market hand in hand with Prompto was a more pleasing experience than Ignis would have thought. He’d been worried that people might stare, but no one paid them any more mind than usual. People still called out greetings to Ignis, though otherwise they let him be. No medical emergencies that morning, apparently.

He had met with Andrew’s father, Dave, already, and they had readily come to an agreement on the work Ignis needed doing. Dave would assemble a chicken coop for him and deliver it within the month, and in the spring he would be bringing a team out to Ignis’ land to build a new treatment clinic there. There would be space for multiple patients and new medical equipment that he would ask Cid and Cindy to keep an eye out for.

The day felt unusually peaceful. Prompto picked out new clothing–new to him, at least–that actually fit him properly. The black denim vest that he found looked very dashing on him, as did everything else he chose. Ignis was loathe to stop him when he was so obviously enjoying trying on the various articles of clothing at the merchant’s booth. There was a small changing area behind a hanging cloth and Ignis would have been happy to watch Prompto enthusiastically model outfits for him all day.

Sadly, they did need to be getting back home. When Ignis pointed that out to him, Prompto heaved a disappointed sigh, but he was only too happy to hook his arm through Ignis’ while his new clothing was paid for. Having his lover on his arm made some wondrous feeling pool warmly in Ignis’ chest. He felt a bit like he was showing Prompto off, this beautiful young man that he had met through pure happenstance, or luck, or what have you. It was a foolish and prideful notion, but having Prompto’s undivided attention and earning his smiles when there were so many other people around made Ignis feel light.

And then, all too soon, they were leaving. Ignis received a send off at the gates from several of his recent patients or their family members, which he hadn’t been expecting. When he introduced Prompto as his boyfriend, Prompto turned shy again in the face of multiple enthusiastic greetings. Ignis wondered if Prompto was remembering the previous night as he shook hands with strangers and they congratulated him on catching Ignis’ eye.

“Those people really like you,” Prompto remarked when they finally managed to extricate themselves from the long goodbyes.

“I am their doctor,” Ignis said. “Though you may be heartened to hear that not everyone enjoys my company. Especially when I come bearing injections.”

Prompto snickered, and wrapped his arm around Ignis’ waist as they walked. Chibi frolicked along beside them, and Ignis found himself thinking she wasn’t quite as ugly as he’d made her out to be. If her hair kept growing back in she might even turn out to be cute.

Ignis returned Prompto’s half-embrace, draping his arm over Prompto’s shoulders. On impulse, he ducked his head and pressed a kiss into Prompto’s hair. The plain soap they had both washed with that morning somehow smelled much better on Prompto than it did on anyone else. A surge of temptation washed through Ignis, and he was glad–mostly–that there were no private shelters nearby where he could ravish Prompto.

They stopped briefly by the scrap yard to say goodbye to Cid and Cindy, and then they were fully on their way. Prompto fiddled with his camera and zigzagged back and forth across the path, taking pictures of anything that caught his interest. There was an ever-present smile on his face as he fluttered about, and his evident pleasure was endearing. Each time he was within arm’s reach, Ignis wanted to catch hold of his arm and haul him in for a kiss–just a brief one. But if he did that, they’d never get anywhere.

“I can’t wait to see all of your pictures,” Ignis said.

Prompto cast a look back at him, grinning where he was crouched on the pavement. His camera was poised above a cluster of little orange flowers growing through the crumbling concrete. “I hope I can get them to develop right. Maybe I could be a famous photographer.”

Ignis doubted there were many photographers in the Wasteland. Prompto might very well be the only one, which would be something in and of itself.

“Whatever you do, I’m sure you’ll be amazing,” Ignis told him. Prompto bounced up as Ignis drew even with him, and reached out to tangle their fingers together.

“How do you know?” Prompto asked, looking up at him with honest curiosity.

“That you’ll be amazing?” Ignis asked. “Because you are rare and brilliant. You have a different perspective on the world, and in spite of your upbringing, you see the good within the bad.”

The answer made Prompto go silent for a few long moments. “Do you think… Is that why–” but he didn’t get the chance to finish asking his question.

Chibi had stopped dead in the road ahead of them, and she was…snarling. On such a small dog it was almost funny, her higher pitched growls not terribly threatening. But her tail was tucked between her legs, ears laid back, and even from several feet away, Ignis could see that she was shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Prompto breathed. His hand had gone tight around Ignis’ fingers, and Ignis stepped closer to him instinctively.

“I don’t–”

And then the man stepped out of the treeline along the side of the road, and both Ignis and Prompto stopped short. Chibi let out a short burst of furious barks, then scrabbled back closer to Ignis and Prompto with a frightened whine. The man was facing them, though he was wearing sunglasses that hid his eyes. A long, dark coat adorned his body, nearly sweeping the ground. He appeared to study the three of them for an absurdly long time, and Ignis wanted to ask who he was but his throat seemed much too tight.

Finally, the strange man spoke, and his voice was an odd monotone that set Ignis’ teeth on edge. “Citizen of the Commonwealth, you are in possession of property of the Institute. Please step away, and you will not be harmed.”

Ignis found his voice then, and managed to ask, “What are you talking about?” Inside, he was reeling. Prompto’s hand felt like a lead weight in his grasp, and he realized the man beside him had gone stock still.

“Him,” the man said, and he raised a finger to point at Prompto. “He belongs to the Institute, and I have come to collect him. Please step back.”

Ignis risked a glance at Prompto, a part of him hoping that it wasn’t true, that his suspicions had been wrong. But Prompto was as white as a sheet, eyes round with stark terror, and he was absolutely frozen in place.

“This is my boyfriend,” Ignis said, feeling a sort of helplessness. The statement was useless in this situation–he didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew.

The stranger’s expression didn’t change. “You have been mislead,” he said in that same flat voice. “This man is a synth, not a human being.”

Somehow, the revelation fell flat for Ignis. But the words drew a sharp whimper from Prompto, who dropped Ignis’ hand as he took a step back.

_Say something_ , Ignis thought. He kept his eyes trained on the stranger in the long coat. When he spoke, he tried to keep his voice cool and level. Breathing in, then out, he said, “I know.”

It gave pause to both the stranger, and to Prompto. He felt Prompto’s eyes boring holes into him, but he didn’t dare look away from this man of the Institute. “You know,” the stranger repeated. He managed to sound confused without putting the words into the form of a question.

“Yes,” Ignis said. “Or I-I suspected. And it doesn’t matter. I don’t care if he’s a synth, and he– he doesn’t _belong_ to anyone.” Was his fear too obvious? The Institute killed people, he’d heard. Took them away and replaced them with synth versions of themselves, perfect robot replicas.

Only…

Prompto was not a robot. He was flesh and blood. Whatever a synth was, they were not cold, unfeeling automatons. Robots didn’t eat, or adopts pets, or have smiles that dazzled like sunshine. They didn’t take pictures, didn’t make friends. Robots didn’t look at a man like they were in love with him.

“You are mistaken. The synth is property of the Institute.” A gun appeared in the stranger’s hand, too fast for Ignis to track. It was a laser weapon, the sort that could burn a man to a pile of ash. Ignis’ blood went cold as it was leveled at his chest. “Please step back. I will not ask again.”

Ignis opened his mouth to–what? Reason with this person? He seemed much more robotic than the synth he had come to hunt down. Appealing to his humanity likely wouldn’t do any good.

“Wait.” Prompto’s voice was a croak. “Wait. Don’t…don’t hurt him. I’ll…I’ll go with you.”

Ignis’ head whipped around, and he saw Prompto had moved to stand beside him again. He was still so pale, so frightened, and he was crying. “Don’t,” Ignis whispered at him, a desperate plea.

Prompto ignored him, took another step forward. “Just… let me say goodbye?”

The man in the coat stared at Prompto for an uncomfortably long time, so long that Ignis was sure he would say no, and then he gave a short, single nod. “It is wise of you to come quietly. Perform your farewells, NF-12.”

Sniffling, Prompto wavered for just a moment before turning to Ignis. His expression was desolate, resigned, and tipping past horror into a sort of blankness. “Don’t,” Ignis said again. “We can fight him.” Prompto’s arms were around him then, clinging to him, face buried against Ignis’ chest. They didn’t have to part like this. His mind worked wildly, disbelieving that this was happening. This couldn’t be happening. Everything had been fine, everything was _fine._

“I’m sorry,” Prompto sobbed against him, words muffled. “He’ll kill you, and he’ll still take me. We can’t stop him.”

“No,” Ignis said. He couldn’t form a complete argument. His mind wouldn’t work.

“I’m so sorry, Ignis,” Prompto said again, and when he lifted his face his eyes were rimmed red and wet. “I knew they would find me, but I hoped–” he choked off there, and then he was surging up, crushing their mouths together for a brief, wet kiss.

Ignis was paralyzed. He wanted to run, to fling himself at this interloper who’d come to ruin their lives, but Prompto’s fear had infected him. What was this man that made Prompto so certain that they would lose to him? _Do something or you’ll lose Prompto, you dolt._

His hand was going to his gun as he watched Prompto turn and begin walking toward the stranger. The Institute man held his hand out, reaching for Prompto’s arm, but before he took hold, something streaked across the pavement. The stranger’s face twisted in pain and surprise as Chibi leaped up and sank her teeth into his extended hand.

“Filthy beast,” he said, and the first traces of real emotion entered his voice as he whipped his arm violently and sent the dog flying. She crumpled to the earth fifteen feet away, and then Prompto made a noise that wasn’t quite human as he twisted the laser rifle out of the stranger’s hand and began firing.

Ignis watched in shock as a streak of blue fire struck the man in the chest—and it didn’t kill him. He staggered back, teeth bared in pain, but then he was lifting his arm and fiddling with something attached to his wrist. Then his body flickered and disappeared, and Ignis was certain that he was losing his mind. That wasn’t possible. Nothing could just become completely invisible.

An image of the deathclaw they had faced surfaced in his mind, and Ignis sharpened his eyes, searching, searching– There! He raised his arm and fired at a place where the air shimmered, not entirely sure when his gun had actually made it into his hand. There was a spray of red that painted the ground–blood, but the rippling air didn’t stop moving. In fact, it was coming straight for him.

“Ignis, get down!” Prompto’s command was inarguable. Ignis dropped into a crouch, and Prompto fired the laser rifle wildly, landing more than one hit on the invisible figure until the cloak finally dissipated and he appeared again. Another shot, and the stranger was knocked to his knees just feet away from Ignis. He looked only a bit worse for wear–was it that coat that was protecting him?

Lips curled back in a silent snarl, the man shifted up to his knees as Ignis leveled his rifle at him. They would have to kill him, he knew, but he should let Prompto do it. The Institute, he thought. It was the Institute that tormented Prompto. He’d known on some level that it had to be them, but he hadn’t wanted to believe that the boogeyman was real, so to speak. People whispered behind their hands about the Institute, then turned around and pretended like it didn’t exist. Ignis had been just as bad as anyone else in that regard.

“He isn’t real,” said the stranger. “He is a _thing._ Whatever you think”–Ignis swung the butt of his rifle at the man’s face and connected with a smack, though he barely reacted to the blow. Blood welled up from inside of his mouth and dripped down his chin, and there was a coldness in his voice now as he reached up and touched his bloodied face. “I renege on our agreement, NF-12,” he said loudly enough for Prompto to hear, then he lunged for Ignis.

_I should have just shot him._ The thought was fleeting. Ignis didn’t have enough time to bring his rifle to bear again before the man was on him, knocking him back and reaching for his throat. Ignis struggled against his unnatural strength, but it was no good–those hands were going to snap his neck, he knew, and then Prompto would be alone against this horrible creature.

There was a wet thunk, a slicing noise, and the man stiffened, his fingers spasming in Ignis’ shirt collar. Prompto was looming behind him, and he jerked back, revealing the bloodied knife he’d sunk into the man’s shoulder. The laser rifle must have run out of ammo, or he’d been scared of hitting Ignis. Or maybe Prompto had just wanted to stab the bastard.

Gasping, the man twisted, one arm reaching behind him as if hoping he could staunch the wound in his back. He fell to the side, next to Ignis, facing Prompto and then surged to his feet with disturbing speed. “Recall code, MT-059–”

It was as far as he got. Ignis scrambled back out of the way as Prompto launched himself at the man, burying his knife into his chest. They fell to the ground. Prompto yanked the knife free and plunged it forward again, straddling the man, using both hands. Ignis heard the sickening gurgle of a dying man, but he only watched as the knife came down again, and again, and–

Prompto stopped. The blade was buried to the haft, his fists wrapped around the handle. There was blood. So much of it, on Prompto’s hands and sprayed across his arms and front, even his face, in a fine mist. The man moved no more, no longer drew breath. Ignis stared, and stared, for a long few minutes as Prompto gasped and began to shudder.

Then Ignis moved, getting up onto all fours, then to his feet. He felt weak and heavy and stunned as he dropped to the ground beside them. “It’s done,” he heard himself say. Then, with more clarity, he said it again. “It’s done, love. He’s dead.” He reached for Prompto’s hands and slowly pried them from the knife handle. There was no resistance–Prompto was shaking and panting and staring down at what he’d done, at the ruin he’d made of the man from the Institute. A soft whimpering started up in his throat, and Ignis put an arm around him.

That seemed to do it. Prompto sobbed, and turned to Ignis, winding both arms around his neck. Ignis managed to pull him closer, away from the body, getting his other arm hooked under Prompto’s legs and cradling him there on the ground as he cried and trembled violently. “Shh,” Ignis hushed him, tucking Prompto’s face safely against his neck, unmindful of the blood. “I’ve got you.” He didn’t remember being much use fighting off the stranger–the fight already felt distant, surreal–but he could hold Prompto, give him comfort.

“It’s all right,” Ignis assured him, pressing his mouth to Prompto’s ear, not even sure that he could be heard through Prompto’s fear and grief. “I’ve got you. I love you. You’re safe.” He said it over and over again until the words morphed into that one phrase, repeated until it burned inside of him; “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

◊◊◊

There was a soft tap-tap against the ground, and Ignis looked up to see Chibi walking stiffly toward them. He didn’t expect the surge of relief that he felt at seeing her alive. She was limping, and there were abrasions on her bare skin, but she was on her feet. He’d examine her when they got home, to make sure she didn’t have any broken bones or internal bleeding. And he would never think poorly of the brave little dog again.

“Come on, love,” Ignis said. He slowly got to his feet, balancing Prompto in his arms as he staggered away from the scene. “Can you walk?” He would carry Prompto home if he had to, but they’d be defenseless if anything else attacked them.

Prompto had gotten quiet, only wracked by sniffles and silent tremors. Ignis felt him nod against his neck, and gently let Prompto’s legs lower until he was standing unsteadily in his arms.

The body and the knife were left behind for scavengers to deal with. They both leaned on each other as they walked home. Chibi hobbled beside them until Ignis took pity on her and scooped her up with his free hand. She sat in the crook of his arm with her paws on his shoulder, and his plan to defend them was rendered pointless. Both of his arms were occupied now, but he was too tired to feel any sense of alarm at their vulnerability. They would have been easy pickings for any kind of predator.

Home was shockingly normal, welcomingly unchanged when Ignis finally laid eyes on it. All was exactly as they’d left it, untouched, no attempts at burglary or vandalism evident. The turret purred on its stand, roving back and forth in a defensive arc. It hadn’t fired even once while they’d been gone.

Prompto would not let go of him, so Ignis brought him to the water pump behind the house. They both stripped out of their bloody clothing right there, uncaring if anybody came along and saw them. Ignis scrubbed the blood from Prompto’s skin, scouring away every drop until he was clean again. Though now he was shivering from both cold and shock. Ignis urged him into the house and wrapped him in clean clothing, then added a blanket around his shoulders for good measure.

Nothing was said throughout any of it. The cleaning, the changing. Ignis pushed Prompto gently into a chair and brewed up some tea, mixing in a bit of an herb that would act as a sedative. Just enough to calm him. Maybe enough to help him fall asleep.

“There’s medicine in this,” Ignis told Prompto as he handed him the drink in a chipped teacup. Prompto clutched the little vessel like it was a lifeline, and brought it shakily to his lips as Ignis added, “It will make you sleepy.” That didn’t stop him from drinking it. He swallowed the contents almost greedily, and probably burned his mouth in the process. Then he continued holding the cup, sitting hunched in his chair and staring into the middle distance.

At a loss, Ignis sat in the chair across from him, hands folded on the table. He wanted to ask questions, but he couldn’t think of any. There should be something he should be asking, shouldn’t there? Maybe now just wasn’t the time. He was in shock himself, to a degree. His mind felt blank, his body immovable now that he had run out of ways to be useful.

Chibi came over to him and rested her bald chin on his knee. Unthinking, Ignis reached a hand down to pet her on the head. She probably needed food and water, but he couldn’t bring himself to move again. He would get up in a minute, he thought. In a minute.

“I’m sorry,” Prompto said. His voice was low and raspy but it sounded too loud in the utter silence, and Ignis started.

It took him several tries to find his own voice. “For what?” he asked stupidly.

“It’s my fault,” Prompto said. His tone was dull, far away. He was staring at the far wall, looking at something Ignis couldn’t see. “He was after me. The Courser.”

“The… the man?” Ignis said.

Prompto nodded, the movement slow and thick. “They’re called Coursers. Synths made and trained specially to hunt other runaway synths. I knew…” his lip began to tremble, and he hugged the empty mug to his chest. “I knew they’d send one after me, but I thought… I thought maybe they wouldn’t find me. I thought we could be safe here, together. I’m so _stupid._ ” He ended on a gasp, and pulled his knees up, balancing his heels on the edge of the chair so he could curl up and hug himself. He looked so small, all Ignis wanted to do was go over there and hug him.

But he couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t obey the urge to go over there and hold his love. “You’re not,” he whispered. Nothing else came to mind, nothing that would be more comforting.

Silence dragged for what felt like ages before either of them spoke again. He could barely make out Prompto’s muffled voice when he said, “I was supposed to be one. A Courser.” More silence. Ignis didn’t know what to do with all of this information. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t hunt synths, though. I was…I am defective. There was…a test. I was supposed to punish a rogue synth that had been brought back, but she was sobbing and begging me not to hurt her, and I couldn’t do it.”

“Of course,” Ignis murmured. Prompto could never have been the cold, stoic creature that that… _Courser_ had been.

Prompto lifted his head, and rested his chin on his knees. His voice had become flat, as if he was speaking by rote. “They should have wiped my mind blank. Started over, retrained me. But one of the doctors, he said he wanted to try an experiment. Dr. Besithia–he was the one who was in charge of re-educating defective synths–he let Dr. Izunia take me without wiping my mind. They were working together on something. They wanted to take control of the Institute, so they could have more freedom to do…to…”

Ignis experienced the odd, conflicting sensations of having his blood run cold and his heart begin to race all at once. Prompto was telling him everything he’d wanted to know, answering all of his questions, but Ignis hadn’t wanted to find out this way.

“I worked for Dr. Izunia, after that. I don’t really know what his experiment was, because I was just his assistant. I also don’t know why he let me keep my memories. Maybe so I would remember that I was defective. Or maybe he wanted to hold it over me, that he had the power to erase everything I was. He also made me promise not to tell anyone that I hadn’t had my memories erased, but…he was so _cold._ He had this way of sounding pleasant and reasonable, friendly even, but his eyes were so empty. He terrified me, and I didn’t know why at first.

“But then,” Prompto sucked in a tremulous breath, “He would… _do_ things to me. Inject me with ‘medicine’ that burned, and then make me keep working even though I felt sick and I could barely see straight. I would shake, but if I dropped anything he’d cuff me. Then sometimes he would put electrodes on me and shock me. Maybe because I’m a Courser…I don’t know. I’m not like a normal synth. But I’m not as resilient as a regular Courser, not anymore, I think because of whatever he was doing to me. And I was too scared of him to resist, or complain. If I did anything that he didn’t like he’d bring up what a shame it would be to lose such a valuable assistant, like he was disappointed in me, but he was really threatening me. ”

“You got away, though” Ignis said. He wanted this story to end, for all of Prompto’s trauma to have never happened, but all he could do was listen.

Prompto shook his head. His voice was still dull, no bitterness or emotion evident. “After a few months, yeah. After the old director died and Dr. Besithia got put in charge. After Dr. Izunia got even worse. And nobody really even cared. Nobody said anything when I kept having to go for medical treatment, because if anything happened to me it was easy enough just to make another synth. They just complained about wasting supplies on me so often.”

_A doctor should have cared,_ Ignis thought. A medical doctor, if not all of the other monsters Prompto was surrounded by. _No wonder he was terrified of me._

“Then…then someone helped me get away. I don’t know if he was my friend, or if he just hated Dr. Besithia and Dr. Izunia. His father was the director before Besithia took over. Dr. Caelum. He had forbidden kidnapping people from the Commonwealth, and he was trying to stop the experiments on synths. But then he died. My friend, he thought… he thought someone had killed his father, so he wanted to hurt everyone who had opposed Dr. Caelum. And helping me escape would make Dr. Izunia angry, so…so I went along with it. I was terrified of coming up here alone, but I knew he was going to kill me eventually if I stayed.”

“And it worked,” Ignis interjected.

“Yeah. But I almost died, anyway. I was hungry and alone and too afraid of the people up here to go near any towns I saw. Then I found the bunker, and then I found _you_ and I thought it would all be okay, but…” He shrugged. “They found me. If that Courser had finished reciting my recall code it would have triggered the synth component in my head to cease all unnecessary brain function. He would have taken me away and I know they would have given me back to _him._ ”

Yet Prompto had been willing to go back if it meant the Courser would leave Ignis alive. The thought twisted his stomach into knots. Prompto had nearly sacrificed himself, _and_ he’d been the one to get the upper hand on the Courser, then kill him, and what had Ignis done?

“Did you mean it?” Prompto asked suddenly. Ignis couldn’t remember half of what he had said that day, didn’t know what Prompto was asking him. Thankfully, Prompto turned his weary blue gaze on Ignis, and added, “That you don’t care about me being a synth? That you already knew?”

“Yes,” Ignis said softly. “I meant it. I still do.” He didn’t know how they made synths, but he knew Prompto wasn’t just a bunch of wires and motors inside. He bled like any other human, he had a real, beating heart and an understated intelligence, and a capacity to learn, and to love. There was nothing synthetic about him that Ignis could see.

Prompto’s gaze fell away from him. “Thank you,” he whispered into the silent room. “Thank you, Ignis. That means a lot to me.” And with that, the explanation was over. Prompto asked Ignis if he could go lie down, and Ignis finally found the strength to move, to join him on the mattress in the back room, to hold Prompto in his arms as they both drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

**Chapter Nine**

A strange noise woke Ignis sometime later. Darkness met his open eyes, and he groaned as he stretched aching muscles. Then he stiffened, realizing his arms were empty, and so was Prompto’s side of the mattress.

“Prompto?” he croaked into the dark. It had to be nighttime. They had laid down sometime in mid-afternoon, too exhausted both physically and emotionally to face the rest of the day.

There was no reply to Ignis’ voice, except for the noise that had woken him. It was a scrabbling sound, like mole rats scratching at his door, but… No, he knew what it was. He got up, wincing as his body protested, and stumbled through the dark into the front room. Through the darkness, he could just make out the faint shape of Chibi on her hind legs, whining as she pawed anxiously at the door. Prompto was not in the room.

Ignis felt his stomach drop into his shoes. He had once expected Prompto to get up and leave in the middle of the night, but now it seemed unthinkable. Why would he– But that was a foolish question. Ignis knew why, but he couldn’t just stand there and accept it. He had to do something, go after him, talk to him, he had to–

He found his boots, stuffed his feet into them, and then yanked the door open. The dog bolted out into the night with a series of yips, and Ignis followed her. Down the path they raced, and then Chibi turned right on the road, heading away from town. How much of a lead did Prompto have on them? He couldn’t be far, could he?

Chibi was faster than Ignis, possessing more stamina than him as well. After a few minutes his weary body was flagging, kept going only by adrenaline and determination. A hill rose before them, and Ignis put on an extra burst of speed. As they crested it, he almost missed the dark shape slumped on an old bench, but Chibi made a beeline straight for it.

Slowing to as stop, Ignis watched as Prompto reached out a pale hand to greet his dog. She chuffed and bounced happily around him, and then he stood to face Ignis. His face was obscured in the darkness, his form backlit by silvery moonlight.

“Go back, Ignis,” Prompto said softly. His voice was thick and faltering, as if he had to fight to get the words out. “Take Chibi and…and forget about me.”

Ignis’ lungs burned, but he heaved a humorless laugh through his panting breaths. “And how am I meant to do that? How could I ever forget you, Prompto?” The words held the edge of hysteria. This couldn’t happen, he _couldn’t_ lose Prompto, not after everything that had taken place to bring them together. He bent to brace his hands against his knees as he tried to rein in his dizzying fear at the prospect of such a loss.

Had it really only been last night that they’d made love for the first time? Had their happy, carefree morning at the market really happened? All of it, the kisses and happy smiles, felt as though it was slipping out of his grasp, and he was frantic not to let it all go. The emptiness that would follow would be too much to bear.

“I _can’t_ stay, Ignis,” Prompto pleaded, moving forward, faltering, then hugging himself against the urge to step into Ignis’ arms. “They’ll never stop looking for me until they catch me, or I’m dead, or until I’m too far away for them to go after, and if they find me with you then they’ll _kill_ you. That Courser almost killed you, and I can’t–I c-can’t-let-that–” Ignis could hear his teeth chattering, and knew it had nothing to do with the temperature.

He straightened and stepped forward, and it was like a knife sliding into his heart when Prompto jerked back. “Please, love,” he whispered. “Please. I _can’t_ be alone again. I know that’s not fair to put on you, but I don’t think you really want to do this, and you don’t have to.” He took another step forward, and this time Prompto stayed put. Ignis reached up to grip his shoulders, sliding his hands down Prompto’s shaking arms, then back up to cup his neck, his face. He could see Prompto’s eyes now, big and glittering in the spare light.

“I don’t-don’t want t-to,” he agreed, “But–but I can’t just sit around and keep waiting for them to come after me, and I-I can’t go looking for them to fight back. There’s no way to get into the Institute! I mean, am I just supposed to keep fighting them off forever? I can’t do that!” His voice was getting higher and more resigned. Ignis felt desperation clawing at his throat.

“You don’t have to,” Ignis promised. “ _We’ll_ fight them. Together. You could teach me how, you _know_ how.”

“I…I don’t know if I can,” Prompto whispered. Was he wavering? Ignis couldn’t tell. He didn’t know how far to push, or whether he could even change Prompto’s mind.

Ignis tried a different tact. “You stayed with me before,” he said, “When you were so afraid of me you could scarcely look me in the eye–why not run then?”

Silence. Then, softly, “Because I was more afraid of being alone. And I was tired of running from them.”

He let go of Prompto’s face and grabbed one of his hands, pressing the palm flat to his own chest, holding it there. “But you are so strong, Prompto,” he said. “Too strong to let fear of them, of–of _him_ frighten you into running again. Spending your whole life _fleeing_ is no life. I ran from my home, and all it brought me for a very long time was loneliness. But…if you are going to run, if your mind is made up, I won’t let you go alone.”

“But…but I can’t–people need you here, I–” Prompto was still shaking, his voice coming in wobbly gasps.

“Someone else will take my place,” Ignis insisted. “I just…I can’t lose you,” he said. “I can’t, Prompto. I can’t be alone again, and I can’t let you suffer like that either. This world…it’s too much for any one person to face alone.” His own voice was thickening, and he bent, kissing the hand he clutched before pressing it to his cheek.

He would get on his knees and beg if he had to. It wasn’t like him to plead like this, to make himself so vulnerable, but then he’d never had to convince the man that he loved not to run away and leave him behind.

“Just…You've become so precious to me, and I only want to protect you,” Ignis pleaded thickly, “Come home with me, and we’ll think this over. Together.”

He thought Prompto might be crying again. His own eyes were hot and wet, but had yet to spill over. Chibi was padding around their feet, whining restlessly, sensing their distress. Prompto’s fingers curled around his own, and Ignis saw his shoulders sag.

“I can’t take you away,” Prompto said, and his voice was surprisingly steady. “And I-I don’t want to be alone again, either. I just wanted–I want you to be safe. It scared me when you said you loved me because I knew it meant you would stand up to them no matter what. And it’s not fair,” his voice shook and cracked again as he lost control, “It’s _not_ fair. I hate them for making me so afraid that I was going to run away from you.”

Ignis’ breath caught in his throat. “Does that mean you’ll stay?” The words almost choked him, and Prompto’s brief nod stole his ability to speak altogether.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. I love–” he had to gasp for air, “I love you. I panicked and ran, but I-I don't want to run again.” And then he broke down. Ignis felt his own throat swell, and while he didn't sob the way Prompto did, he finally felt wetness tracking down his cheeks.

They stepped forward at the same time and stood there in the road holding each other for much too long. Ignis didn't realize until much later that he'd run outside in the dark without even arming himself. Prompto had been better prepared–he had his revolver, at least, and a hastily stuffed pack.

Ignis would do better, he resolved. He would never freeze again, never fail again. The Institute was no ordinary enemy, after all.

_We'll be okay, though_ , he thought. _They won't take us by surprise again_. He and Prompto would be ready, next time.

Unbeknownst to them in that moment, as they returned home and lay down to rest their weary hearts, there wouldn't be any next time.

 

**Chapter Ten**

Ignis stepped through the door, blinking in the bright light of day, a plate of food balanced in each hand. “Darling?” he called, and received no answer. Prompto was nowhere to be seen in the front of the house, so he rounded the building and found his boyfriend sitting by the unlit fire pit.

“Love?” he said.

Prompto started, and twisted in place to look back at him. “What is it?” he asked tensely.

“I made lunch,” Ignis said. “I thought we could eat outside.” He moved toward Prompto, joining him on the low bench where they’d sat so often at night.

“Oh,” Prompto said. He took the plate that Ignis offered, and set it on his lap. His empty lap. He had just been sitting out here, staring at nothing. Chibi lay at his feet, asleep, her feet twitching. Ignis had been hoping Prompto was out here reading, or doing something, and it worried him to find Prompto like this. Again.

“Have you taken anymore pictures?” Ignis asked him, trying to prod Prompto into conversation.

A shrug. “Not really,” Prompto said. He’d been in a mood for the past week, gripped by alternating bouts of listlessness and melancholy. It was much the same way he’d been when they had first met, only he wasn’t as jumpy. He still curled up in Ignis’ arms every night, still accepted his kisses and initiated contact between them. But he was…different.

Ignis tried again. “Did you try developing that first roll of film, yet?”

Prompto shook his head. “There’s no good place to do it.” He began picking at his food—fried tatos and vegetables. Light but healthy fare for his lacking appetite.

He didn’t react when Ignis reached over and carded a hand through his cornsilk hair. “You need a haircut,” Ignis said lightly, “It must be driving you mad, hanging in your eyes like that. I can give you a trim, if you like.”

“It’s fine,” Prompto mumbled. “You don’t have to.”

An ache bloomed, deep in Ignis’ chest. He knew what the problem was, much as he was afraid to admit it. Prompto was depressed. He had lapsed from fear into…this. This state of not wanting, or not being able to do anything. He was still afraid, but he had come to accept the fear, behaving as if it was inevitable that the Institute was going to find him again.

Now that they had had time to distance themselves from the horror of facing the Courser, Ignis wasn’t so sure about that. Would the Institute continue to expend resources hunting down a single synth? Ignis was still on alert, still prepared for anything. His rifle was slung across his back at that very moment, and Prompto was also armed. They had talked about what they would do if another Courser showed up, but Prompto was preoccupied with the fear that they would use his recall code and render him inert.

Honestly, the idea always sent a chill through Ignis. The idea that Prompto could be made completely defenseless with a string of numbers and letters sickened him. And only the doctors at the Institute knew how to reactivate a synth that had been put into that inactive state. Just imagining his lover like that was enough to make Ignis feel the beginnings of true panic.

He tucked a loose lock of hair behind Prompto’s ear, and then turned back to his own food. His own appetite had fled, but he made himself clean his plate as he tried to think of something he could say to draw Prompto out of this bleak fog.

Most of Prompto’s food wound up being slipped to Chibi, and Ignis didn’t have the heart to scold him, not even teasingly. Ignis took Prompto’s empty plate, stacked it with his own, and set them both aside. Shifting sideways, he faced Prompto and took his hands, savoring the smooth warmth of Prompto’s skin against his own calluses. He lifted each hand and kissed one, then the other, brushing his lips over the ridge of Prompto’s knuckles.

“I love you,” he said, watching Prompto carefully. His heart gave an excited little thump as Prompto’s expression softened, growing less wan, less morose.

“I love you, too,” he said. He leaned in close and Ignis accepted the short kiss that was pressed to his lips. Prompto kissed him again on the cheek, then rested his head on Ignis’ shoulder with a soft exhale.

“I was thinking,” Ignis said. “I should go check in at the scrap yard, see if they’ve turned up any new equipment for me.” He had thought that would rouse Prompto, make him smile at the very least. Aside from Ignis, Cindy was his only real friend in the Wasteland, and spending time with her might cheer him up.

“Do you think that’d be safe?” Prompto asked. He turned his face into Ignis’ throat, and shuffled closer, pressing into his side. Oh. Of course. If they went into town they’d have to pass the spot where the Courser had ambushed them. It had been thoughtless of Ignis to overlook that.

Honestly, he didn’t think that he processed trauma the same way that Prompto did–Ignis was disturbed by the memory itself, and had learned a lesson in caution. Prompto, on the other hand, was haunted by what had happened. Ignis had even begun to wonder at times if he’d done the right thing, going after Prompto when he’d tried to run. _Of course it was the right thing. I couldn’t very well let him deal with this all on his own. And I’d have gone mad with worry if he left and I never knew what had happened to him._

Still, a part of him worried that he’d been selfish, convincing Prompto to stay. They could have left, gone west. Ignis had heard of other civilized areas, like the Capital, and New California. He had also heard that slavery was more common out west, and there were always more dangerous things lurking in the Wasteland that they could stumble into without warning. It was safer, wasn’t it, to stay and face the enemy that they knew?

“We could wait until a caravan passes by,” Ignis said. “Travel in a group.” That seemed to mollify Prompto, but he still didn’t seem as excited as he should.

Ignis hugged him tight, kissed the crown of his head, then pulled back a bit. “Want to go for a walk?” he asked.

Another shrug. Prompto opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was cut off as the entire world shuddered beneath their feet. Both of them made exclamations of fear and surprise. Was this an earthquake? Ignis searched the ground, but a gasp from Prompto had him looking up and following his line of sight, up and up and–

“Dear God,” Ignis said, and he tightened his arms around his boyfriend, pulling him close, as if proximity could protect them both from the mushroom cloud blooming above the treeline. “Is that a bomb?” Who could have launched a nuclear missile in this day and age? Did they need to evacuate? What–

Prompto squirmed, wresting himself free of Ignis’ arms and scrambling to his feet, nearly tripping over his dog. He took a few steps in the direction of the blast, ignoring Ignis’ plea of warning. He stood there, his back to Ignis, staring up at the sky for long, tense seconds. His chest was heaving as if he’d just been running, and his hands clenched into fists reflexively.

“Love,” Ignis said, “Prompto.” He got to his feet, reached for Prompto, only to have him twirl around and march toward the house.

“We have to go,” he said.

“What?” Ignis said, following in his wake, anxiety creeping up his throat. “You mean– You’re right. We should get away from that cloud, but–”

Prompto jerked around, looked at Ignis, his eyes wild. “No. We have to _go._ ” He put emphasis on the final word, and pointed toward the looming cloud.

Gaping, Ignis watched him about-face again and head inside. “No,” he said to himself, then he followed Prompto into the house and said it again, louder. “No. Absolutely not. Are you mad? We can’t go _toward_ a mushroom cloud.”

“Then _you_ stay,” Prompto snapped at him, already kneeling on the mattress in the back as he stuffed clothing into a bag. “I have to go, I have to see it.”

“See what? A hole in the ground?” Ignis said, incredulous and hurt by Prompto’s sharp dismissal of him.

“Yes!” Prompto gasped, and he shot to his feet, tried to shove past Ignis, but Ignis stopped him, hands on his shoulders.

“Prompto, stop,” he said, “Talk to me. Tell me why you have to go–”

“The Institute is that way!” he half-shouted, a desperate look in his eyes. “I have to go, I have to–It was underground, Ignis. Don’t you get it? Nothing else could make an explosion like that. I mean, what else could it be? I have to–I have to…” He was trembling again, but not as violently as he had the week before.

“You have to see if the Institute was destroyed in the explosion,” Ignis finished for him. Understanding came easily then; if someone had abused him for most of his life he would want to make sure they were dead, too. “All right,” Ignis said. “We’ll go–but we have to wait. The explosion could stir up a radiation storm, and we don’t want to be caught out in the open for that, nor do we want to breathe in radioactive dust.

Prompto had been on the verge of arguing, but he was calming down now that Ignis had agreed to go with him. It was clear he didn’t relish the thought of having to wait, but he slowly set down the bag he’d packed with a sigh.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll wait.” He put his arms around Ignis and kissed his jaw. “Thank you. For understanding.”

“Of course, love,” Ignis said.

◊◊◊

The days of waiting were torturous for both of them.

A rad-storm passed over them the next day, the first one Prompto had ever seen. He was fascinated as he watched it come on, but once it was over them he was only too happy to hide under the blanket in their bed. Then, the next day he was sick and needed a heavy dose of rad-away to stop his vomiting and fever, and the medicine itself made him feel tired and achy. Ignis took pity on him and sat beside him on the mattress, reading out loud for hours to help keep his mind off his misery.

Prompto was the last person who deserved to be physically ill on top of his other woes, but it provided a reason for them to wait almost a week before they finally sealed up the house and set out.

This journey was not at all like their trip to town had been. For one, they were walking away from an area of relative safety into the true wilds of the Wasteland. It was like the day they’d gone to the bunker all over again. There could be anything stalking them out there in the woods, lurking in the broken buildings that they passed.

The atmosphere, too, was different. Prompto was quieter, less curious, more troubled and focused. He walked too quickly, almost jogging at times until Ignis finally took hold of his hand and made him pace himself. When he did ask Ignis a question about something he saw, he almost seemed like his more exuberant self, but then they would move on and the tension would creep back over them.

What was more, they had to camp. Ignis was loathe to camp in unfamiliar territory. Lighting a fire was likely to draw unwanted attention, so they had to huddle together for warmth, wrapped in blankets on the ground. Sleeping like that meant that they couldn’t post a lookout, but it was growing too cold out for them to sleep separately without adequate shelter. Chibi was a decent lookout, but her barking would alert anyone or anything within hearing distance.

First they encountered feral ghouls. Prompto was surprisingly calm as the creatures began to crawl out from under the rusted hulks of cars. His aim took out two of them as they flung themselves toward himself and Ignis. Ignis couldn’t manage headshots, but he aimed for center mass and dropped the last of them. It was only once the ghouls were dead that Prompto looked disturbed, shuddering at the sight of the desiccated bodies.

A yao guai roared at them from a ridge they passed the next day, but the animal couldn’t be bothered to charge them. Prompto had to pick up Chibi to keep her from pelting off after the big beast. She apparently didn’t realize that she was only a thirty pound dog in her zeal to protect her master. An admirable trait, even if it ended up with her getting roughed up more often than not.

Their goal never seemed to get any closer. Three days walking, and Ignis began to wonder what they would do if they didn’t find what Prompto was hoping for.

They had just settled down on the third night when Ignis heard voices outside of the burnt out building they’d taken shelter in. He pressed a finger to his lips as Prompto watched, then crept over to a boarded up window and peeked out through the gaps in the wood. _Raiders_ , he thought, his stomach dropping.

It was obvious what they were. He heard them laughing as they walked down the street, carrying torches and drinking from glass bottles. They wore scraps of leather armor, crudely assembled, and their weapons were equally as slipshod. But there were ten of them, that he counted, smashing their empty glasses in the street. Blood was spattered across their bodies, and his mouth went dry when he saw what else they were carrying.

Heads. Heads on spikes. “Fuck,” he hissed, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Prompto creep up beside him. Pressed together, they watched the macabre parade make its way down the road. Prompto began to shiver, and Ignis put an arm around him, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the raiders. Neither of them dared to make the slightest noise, though Ignis doubted the raiders would hear them if they only spoke in low voices.

They did not sleep that night. Ignis surmised that the gang had just come from a slaughter, and they were pleased by whatever victory they had achieved. He hoped that they had only killed other raiders, and not any innocent settlers.

“Ignis,” Prompto said as they curled up together in the dark, both of them listening keenly for any hint that the raiders might return.

“Yes, love,” Ignis replied.

“I’m glad I didn’t leave before. I don’t think I could handle being out here by myself.”

“I’m glad, too,” Ignis told him. “But you’re more capable than you think.” Thinking of Prompto being at the mercy of bloodthirsty raiders sent a strong surge of protectiveness churning through Ignis’ gut, however, and he held his lover close for the rest of the night.

◊◊◊

At midday on the fourth day, they finally reached Cambridge. Prompto became almost frantic, and Ignis didn’t try to slow him down this time.

“It’s below the old CIT campus,” Prompto panted as they hurried along the side of a building. “It should be right around the corner here.” But when they rounded the corner of the building, there was nothing. No, not nothing. It looked that way at first, like there was a flat expanse of land that ran right up to the river. But on closer inspection, Ignis could see that the land ended abruptly.

They both paused, Prompto rigid beside Ignis as he took in the sight. Ignis had never seen the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, and he didn’t know what it was meant to look like. He was fairly certain that it wasn’t supposed to be a massive crater in the ground.

“Prompto!” he warned, but it was too late–Prompto was off like a shot, rushing toward the crater. Ignis made to go after him, seized by the mad worry that Prompto would plunge right over the edge. But he stopped, just at the mouth of the thing, looking out over the hole in the ground where the Institute used to be.

“Careful, love,” Ignis told him. “We shouldn’t stay long. The radiation here is probably at least as bad as it was during that storm.”

Prompto ignored him. His mouth was open, his brow dipping. A slew of emotions warred on his face as he panted shallowly, eyes brimming. Ignis put a hand on his upper arm to steady him, to offer his silent support, and Prompto made a soft, anguished noise.

“It’s gone,” he said, voice cracking. “It’s…he’s gone. He has to be. He’s…” He trailed off, looking out over the crater in disbelief. Then his expression shifted into something like the feral look he’d worn the day he killed the Courser. Rage twisted his features, and Ignis could only watch as he scooped up a piece of rubble at their feet, and tossed it uselessly into the yawning pit.

“You fucking bastards,” Prompto sobbed, his voice echoing out over the open space. “I hope it fucking hurt!” He slumped down to his knees then, as if all the fight had gone out of him, and he sniffled as he dragged his sleeve across his eyes. Ignis knelt beside him, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and shoulders. He said nothing. What could he say? Prompto’s tormentors were dead. They couldn’t come after him anymore, but the mysterious friend of Prompto’s who had helped to free him was also likely dead.

Ignis leaned in and rested their temples together. Prompto didn’t sob or weep, this time. He just sat quietly as tears dripped down his chin until his eyes ran dry. Then they knelt there a little while longer, until the shadows began to stretch across the ground.

“Can we go home, now?” Prompto murmured. He wasn’t looking at the crater anymore, or the city beyond. He was looking at the dusty ground, or his own knees, or maybe he wasn’t looking at anything.

Ignis brushed the hair back out of Prompto’s eyes–it really was getting too long. “Yes, my love. Let’s go home.”

And so they did.

 

**Epilogue**

“You’re not a synth, are ya?”

The question took Prompto by surprise, but he didn’t feel the sort of panic he might have felt a year ago if somebody had looked at him askance. The woman whose shop he was browsing had her eyes narrowed at him in nervous suspicion.

“Me?” he said, pointing at his own chest. Ignis was always telling Prompto that he was a terrible liar, but Prompto was sure that this time his innocent act was entirely passable.

“You see anyone else lookin’ at my shop right now, kid?” the shop owner sneered, though she looked a little less like she might reach for the baseball bat resting against the wall behind her. What would she actually do if she knew he was a synth? Chase him out of town? Would the other citizens of Diamond City join her and form an angry mob?

If they did, it would make for an amusing anecdote, an interesting memory to look back on when he was an old man.

Prompto gave her a sheepish grin and shrugged. “Sorry. No robot parts in here.” He knocked his knuckles against his chest, and she scowled. She didn’t tell him to get lost, though, and she was happy enough to take his caps in exchange for a package of circuitry.

Caps. Prompto still thought it was a ridiculous monetary system to trade actual useful items for old bottle caps, but people really went wild for the things.

A lot of things about the Wasteland that he’d found confusing or frightening (or just plain disgusting) at first had all started to seem normal to him, though. Where he’d once thought the world aboveground was desolate and dead, empty and filthy, he had now come to see that life up here was abundant. Living was hard on the surface, but all the lifeforms that thrived out here were tough and vital. They’d built a new civilization on the bones of the Old World, and that was admirable.

The inhabitants of the Institute, they had all believed that the world was beyond saving. But they had been wrong, and in the end they had been destroyed for their hubris. By kidnapping citizens of the Commonwealth and using them like animals for their experiments, by creating synths out of artificially grown blood and bone and sinew, giving them thoughts and emotions and then telling them that they weren’t real, the Institute had brought down their own end. They had believed they were the saviors of the world even as they turned their back on it, but a bunch of angry Wastelanders had blown their precious, pristine laboratories into the sky.

But Prompto didn’t want to think about that. It had been a year, and while they heard rumors from time to time of survivors from the Institute, no one else had ever come looking for him. He was free. He had to believe that.

He hummed to himself as he carried his purchase away and paused at a rickety picnic table, Chibi on his heels, so he could rearrange his pack to fit the circuits. The little dog had recovered well over the past year; to Ignis’ surprise, her fur had grown back. Where she’d once been wrinkly and hairless she was now white and fluffy and adorable. Ignis said it was thanks only to Prompto, who’d nursed her back to health and loved her without reservation.

Somebody stepped up behind him, pressing into his back  as he finished packing his bag, and then a voice rumbled into his ear, “You lied to that shopkeeper.”

A shiver ran down Prompto’s spine, but then lips pressed against the whorl of his ear, tickling, and he snorted. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” he said, and Ignis made a noise of amusement that vibrated against Prompto’s back. Ignis gripped Prompto’s arm affectionately as he dropped another kiss against his jaw, then he stepped back.

“That was quite the purchase,” Ignis said as Prompto turned to face him, grinning. “What do you need all that circuitry for?”

“Science,” Prompto said.

“Ah. Of course.” Ignis’ lips twitched. He didn’t need to know just yet that Prompto was planning to wire every building on their property. They were going to have electricity, working lights and equipment that could be hooked up to a central power source. Prompto was pretty sure he could rig up a wind or water powered generator. And they got plenty of sun, so once he and Cindy figured out how to put a solar panel together they would have a limitless supply of energy.

The amenities were becoming a necessity. Ignis might be content to work by candlelight, but the clinic was going to need to be expanded eventually, and the patients might require life support equipment. Defibrillators, heart monitors, medical ventilators—all of that stuff would need way more power than their struggling generator could provide.

Plus, they had employees now. There was the single farm hand who helped take care of the chickens and the two-headed cow Ignis had bought. The hideous beast was sort of growing on Prompto, but he was glad there was another person who was in charge of taking care of her. Then there was Ignis’ apprentice, a serious young girl from town who wanted to become a doctor. She had spent months pestering Ignis to teach her, and with Prompto’s insistence, he’d finally caved. The girl had no family, so she had come to live on their land.

She and the farm hand were there now, looking out for the clinic and the farm while Prompto and Ignis were here in Diamond City. Dave the carpenter was there as well, working on a new construction project; a proper house. He’d said it would probably be finished by the time Prompto and Ignis returned home. When Dave had proposed the idea Ignis had initially balked, insisting that it was too much, what they had was fine, but Prompto’s pleading gaze had convinced him to change his mind.

They had a dog, and two extra people who were living in a hastily erected wooden shack on their land. They needed a real house, not an old storage shed with a single mattress in the back. Prompto was excited by the idea of having a real house, and he knew Ignis was, too.

“Did you finally get to meet with that doctor?” Prompto asked. He’d been nervous about splitting up from Ignis at first, but Diamond City was truly insular, and there were people everywhere. Nothing untoward had happened to him as he’d perused the market accompanied only by Chibi while waiting for Ignis to conduct his business.

“I did,” Ignis replied, sounding cheerful. Prompto slung his pack over his shoulder, and Ignis put an arm around his shoulders as they began to stroll together around the market square. Prompto mirrored him by slipping his arm around Ignis’ waist, and whistled for Chibi to stay close. “He’s a bit of an ass, but he seemed intrigued by the idea of contributing to a medical text. If we can convince that reporter to let us use her printing press, we might even be able to mass distribute, once we’ve got all of our materials together.”

Prompto freed his arm and clapped his hands together excitedly and bounced up on his toes. “You’ll be famous, Iggy!” he said, and Ignis’ wry smile made him laugh.

“Yes. Because that’s my main objective in this endeavor,” Ignis said dryly.

“Well, a little notoriety never hurt anybody,” Prompto said, giving Ignis an admonitory poke in the ribs.

“When the mobs come knocking down our door demanding that the ‘famous’ doctor treat their every malady, I’ll remind you that you said that,” Ignis told him.

Prompto stuck his tongue at him. “Don’t be so dramatic, Igs,” he said.

Ignis sniffed, and straightened his shirt primly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean by that.”

A strong swell of affection rose in Prompto’s chest, and he had to resist the urge to tug Ignis down for a kiss right there in the middle of the crowded square. As if sensing his desire, a knowing smile spread across Ignis’ face. He began to steer Prompto toward a side street, where the inn they’d spent the previous night was located.

“Let’s get something to eat, shall we?” Ignis said.

Prompto was about to agree, but something caught his eye. A flash of dark hair moving with the crowd made him stop short, heart leaping. No. It couldn’t be. Then a gap opened in the throng, and Prompto could see clearly—the slight slump of shoulders and the offset stride was unmistakable.

He heard Ignis say his name as he pulled away and began pushing through the crowd. It was him. It had to be.

“Noct!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, and the dark head of hair whipped around, revealing a young man who wore a surprised–and trepidatious–expression. When his eyes landed on Prompto, they only rounded further, and then Prompto was bursting free of the crowd and throwing his arms around Noct, hugging him tight. It was entirely impulsive and maybe too forward, but he was usually impulsive and forward anyway.

Noctis Caelum grunted under the force of Prompto’s fierce embrace, but he was either too stunned to push him off, or he didn’t mind.

“Pro-Prompto?” he stuttered, one hand coming up to awkwardly pat Prompto’s shoulder.

“I thought you were dead,” Prompto said in a half-sob, face pressed into Noct’s shoulder. His eyes were wet and his chest felt like it might burst–he hadn’t felt a sense of relief this strong since the Institute was destroyed.

“No, we managed to get out during the evacuation,” Noct explained. “Hey, don’t cry, come on.” He sounded as awkward as Prompto remembered, which made him laugh.

He pulled back and wiped at his eyes. “Sorry,” he sniffled, “Happy tears.”

Noct offered him an uncertain smile. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said. “I figured you’d get as far away from the Commonwealth as you could.”

“I found a reason to stick around,” Prompto said with a half shrug and a watery smile.

“You two gonna stand here blocking traffic all day?” a gruff voice asked, and Prompto’s heart plummeted into his shoes. A tall, broad shouldered man stood behind Noct wearing a bored expression that was belied by the tiniest smirk. Prompto’s grip tightened on Noct, but his friend held up a calming hand.

“Calm down, it’s just Gladio,” Noct said, speaking the name dismissively. The large man casually cuffed him on the back of the head, and Noct threw him a scowl.

Gladio, or GS-23, was a Courser. Prompto remembered him as being unflappable and obedient. He’d worked personally for Dr. Caelum, up until the day the old director died. Was he loyal to Noct now? Was that why they were together?

“Hey, pipsqueak,” Gladio said to Prompto. “I owe Noct a drink. I said you wouldn’t last a week on the surface.” He added a wink at the end, a playful gesture.

Prompto didn’t know what to make of this apparent teasing. GS-23 had never said more than two words to him. Especially not after Prompto was reassigned.

That thought, coupled with Noct’s mention of an evacuation, made Prompto go cold inside.

“Noct,” he whispered, stepping in close, searching his friend’s eyes, “Ardyn, and Verstael.”

Noct’s dark blue gaze hardened. “They’re dead,” he assured Prompto, reaching up to squeeze his arm. “We made sure of it.”

Another wave of relief made Prompto feel wobbly, and he nodded, unable to speak for a moment.

Then a throat cleared behind them, and Prompto squeaked and spun around. He’d run off without even saying a word to Ignis, though he’d obviously followed Prompto through the crowd, along with an excited Chibi. Now Ignis stood behind them, an expression of polite confusion on his face.

“Are you going to introduce me to your friends, Prompto?” he asked in a guarded tone.

“Oh!” Prompto said, “Right. This is Noct and GS–uh, Gladio. Noct is the friend I told you about, from…from where I was born.” His explanation was clunky, but Ignis’ eyes shone with realization. “Noct, this is Ignis, he’s–” Prompto gasped, and spun around to face Ignis, “Iggy, can they come to the wedding?” He was bouncing in place at the very thought, and Ignis was giving him that slow, gentle smile, the smile that was just for Prompto.

“I don’t see why not,” he said, his eyes creasing at the corner.

“Wedding?” Noct echoed, and Prompto felt the color rise in his cheek as he took Ignis’ hand, and turned back to the first person he’d ever called friend.

“Ignis is my fiance,” he said, flushing with delight the way he always did when he thought about being married to Ignis. “He asked me last month.”

Well, it was more like Ignis had blurted the question at him. Prompto had been in the middle of reciting a long summary of a book he’d been reading on mechanical engineering, and Ignis had suddenly interrupted him with an unexpected, “Marry me.” They’d both been too shocked to speak for several minutes, but Prompto had eventually managed to say yes.

Gladio was the first to respond. “Congrats, Blondie,” he said.

Noct shook off a baffled expression, and the smile that grew in its place was genuine. “We’d love to go,” he said. “When’s the ceremony?”

“No idea,” Prompto said cheerfully, slowly winding his and Ignis’ fingers together. Word had spread somehow that Doc Ignis was getting married to that shy boy who helped out at the scrap yard on occasion, and some of the settlers had completely taken over wedding planning in their enthusiasm to help out. “But you can come with us when we head home–that is, if you’re not busy?” For all he knew Noct and Gladio lived in Diamond City, but Noct only shrugged.

“Sure. Why not? We’ve just been wandering aimlessly for the past year, anyway,” he said offhandedly.

“If that’s what you call clearing out raider gangs and supermutant nests,” Gladio scoffed. “But I’m game.”

“Seems like you’ve done pretty well for yourself,” Noct said as if Gladio hadn’t spoken, still grinning, and Prompto mirrored the expression.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess I have.” He tilted his head up and Ignis bent to kiss him, brief and sweet. The warmth of Ignis’ mouth against his own felt like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading friends!


End file.
